A Bloom in Winter
by MaryEvH
Summary: King Joffrey Baratheon has been poisoned at his own wedding. Fearing that her granddaughter will be framed, Lady Olenna sends her far north, to Bear Island. Margaery ends up forced to make her way to the Wall in order to survive, but that cold place has its own dangers. Eventual Margaery/Jon, rated T for now, may go up. Co-authored with Anne-Lilian. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello, my loves! I know I've been quiet for a while on here, but I just graduated from college, so I've got some time while I'm job hunting.**

 **My best friend Anne-Lilian and I have been cooking this story up for a while, since Jon and Margaery are her favorite characters in Game of Thrones, and I immediately started wondering what their interactions would be like. And so this story was born! We won't be updating regularly, since we're both busy, but I promise, it's in progress.**

 **FF won't let us be co-authors on this story, but we've published it jointly on AO3 if you also want to check it out there!**

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It was chaos, but all she could do was stare. Once again, she had been deprived of a husband. And no matter how cruel and sadistic he had been, she couldn't quite believe that she had missed out on a wedding night _again_. Margaery blinked, and suddenly, she was aware of someone pulling at her arm. Her grandmother. Vaguely, she was confused, shouldn't she stay with her husband? She was his widow now, and had to bury him.

"Wake up, child," her grandmother snapped, "and move your legs, I am too old to be dragging you along like this."

Instantly, Margaery did as was asked of her, as she always did when Lady Olenna used that tone. They ran, using the crowd as cover. Soon, they were at the royal stables, and her grandmother was pushing her towards a beautiful stallion. "Grandmother, what–"

"We've no time to argue, child, ride to the city gates, our men will be waiting for you. Then, shed all indications of your heritage, no one is to know who you are and what happened to you. Ride north, and do not stop for anything."

Margaery desperately wanted to protest, but she knew it was pointless. If she wanted to get out of the city before they closed the gates, she would have to go without hesitation.

As she rode towards the city gates, she heard the bells ringing. The King was dead.

/*/

Sterlan Florent had been a knight in Highgarden for many years, but he had never spoken directly to the Dowager Lady of Highgarden. When she ordered him to choose two of his most trusted men and wait outside the city gates for Lady Margaery, he knew something was about to happen. He received a raven as the wedding feast started, and the instructions it carried filled him with dread.

He and his men, Darrin and Brandeth, were to escort Lady Margaery – who was to be called Bethany Flowers – to Bear Island, in the north, with all haste. The Lady Olenna feared for her granddaughter's life, apparently.

It wasn't until the bells rang to announce the King's death that Sterlan realized just how desperate the situation was. He held up the yellow rose that was the only thing to signify his allegiance, and waited for Lady Margaery. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait very long. She came barreling through the gates moments before they closed, and almost sped past them. He urged his horse onwards, trusting his men to follow and rode alongside her. "My lady, follow us!" he shouted, holding up the flower for her to see. She looked panicked, but only nodded and guided her horse to follow his, even as they kept galloping away from the city.

It took two hours, and Lady Margaery almost falling off her horse in exhaustion, for them to dare to stop. Sterlan gestured for his men to follow him off the road. They'd have to keep off them from now on, and they definitely couldn't risk stopping on such a busily travelled road.

Lady Margaery seemed resigned. "Time for me to become someone else," she said softly as he helped her off her horse.

Sterlan felt sorry for her. She had to give up her identity, and would probably never see her family again. "We've brought you new clothes, my lady," he said, digging them out of his saddle bags.

She looked at him sadly. "You cannot call me that anymore. As of a few hours ago, I am no more a highborn lady than you are," she said, offering a weak smile.

He nodded his head respectfully and handed the new dress over. "Your grandmother gave me a letter," he said hesitantly as she began to take down her elaborate hair. "You are to be called Bethany Flowers, my half-sister. We're travelling north, to Bear Island." He could tell the Lady wanted to ask why, but she restrained herself.

Her lips twisted into a wry smile. "My grandmother always did have an odd sense of humour. Bethany was a distant Redwyne relation of hers."

Brandeth held up a blanket, so she could change behind it quickly, they had no time to waste on privacy. Though he closed his eyes, Sterlan couldn't imagine it was very comfortable for Margaery - _no, it was Bethany now._

Lady Margaery Tyrell was now dead to the world, but Bethany Flowers was just about to start a new life.

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 **A/N: And so it begins! We know it's short, but be sure to let us know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So this chapter is a little longer, and we hope it'll tie you over a little better until the next one! ;) Enjoy!**

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They had been on the road for over a fortnight, and Margaery wasn't used to this kind of travel. Before now, it was always servants and elaborate litters, sometimes accompanied by her grandmother. Now, she felt as though she were about to fall off her horse.

And she nearly did.

"Halt!" Sterlan shouted, and jumped off his horse just in time to steady her in her saddle. Her eyes were falling shut, and she looked like she was about to fall asleep where she sat. Sterlan saw all this in a single glance, and he knew that they couldn't keep going like this. Even his men were getting weary. "We'll camp here for the night," he said, even though it was only just past dusk. The men sighed in relief; they hadn't rested for a full night since they'd fled King's Landing.

"Where are we?" Lady Margaery - or, rather, Bethany Flowers - said, barely above a whisper.

Sterlan consulted his map. "We should be just north of Moat Cailin. White Harbour is to the northeast. By my estimate, we made it just past the Neck two days ago." A grim smile crossed his face. "We're in the North now. We should be out of danger."

"There's no such thing," she replied, bitterness creeping into her voice.

He decided to let that comment go, and ordered Darrin and Brandeth to set up camp while 'Bethany' rested on a nearby rock. Darrin had a fire burning in a matter of minutes, and Sterlan laid out the bedrolls while Brandeth went hunting for dinner. He took a good look at her, staring blankly into the fire, not moving, not blinking. It was something greater than the resignation that had been weighing her down since they left the Capitol.

"Bethany," he said softly, calling her by her new name. "You need to sleep." He fought not to add the 'my lady' at the end, because even though she looked like a serving girl in her simple dress and breeches, she was still every inch a lady.

"How can I sleep when what I see in my dreams is worse than what I see with my waking eyes?" She asked.

Sterlan had no answer. "Even so, my lady..."

'Bethany' turned to him sharply. "I'm not a lady. Not anymore." He bowed his head in acknowledgement, and gestured towards the bedroll. Finally, Bethany crawled into it and went to sleep.

/*/

Margaery felt much better during the next few days, especially when Sterlan decided that they were far enough from King's Landing to make camp every night. But she should have known things wouldn't go well for long.

It had been two days since they'd camped out for the first time when things started to go wrong. She was certain they'd made a wrong turn somewhere, when she noticed that the woods started getting more and more dense. The thicker undergrowth and lack of any proper paths made it hard for the horses to go any faster than a walk, and Sterlan and the other knights were getting nervous.

"Something's wrong, the forest isn't supposed to be this wild," Sterlan said, almost to himself.

"Well, then, where are we?" Margaery asked.

For a long time, Sterlan didn't reply, and Margaery was starting to think that maybe he wasn't going to. "It's possible we're in the Wolfswood," he replied eventually.

Frowning, Margaery went over her rough mental map of the North. "Isn't that on the route to Bear Island?" Truthfully, she wasn't as familiar with the North as she was with the southern Kingdoms, but as far as she knew, the Wolfswood was the only thing west of Winterfell.

"We were trying to skirt around it, Bethany," Darrin said, looking around warily. "And we shouldn't get too close to Winterfell, now that the Starks have been deposed. The Boltons aren't..." he trailed off, looking at her strangely. "They have a reputation. A bad one."

"I remember their sigil," she said grimly. "'A flayed man has no secrets'."

Brandeth nodded solemnly. "Which is exactly why we were going around the woods, following the coast until we could make the crossing to Bear Island."

"So how do we find our way out of here?" she asked, a little concerned now. She'd heard many a horror story about these woods as a child. Everyone knew the North was a wild country, and the Wolfswood even more so. She was certain the childhood tales of men eaten alive by direwolves in these woods had been highly embellished with time, but nonetheless, they suddenly came back to the front of her mind. She couldn't help looking around warily, scanning her surroundings for any movement.

Brandeth looked up, straining to see the sun. The trees grew so tall and thick here, it was almost impossible to see, never mind navigating by it. "We'll need to climb. Get a better view and set a course."

Darrin was already getting off his horse. He was by far the better climber and had the sharpest eyes. "I'll be down in a moment!" he said, hoisting himself onto a low branch and scampering up the tree.

Margaery always had to smile when she saw him climb up so effortlessly. In her mind, she'd often compared it to a squirrel, but she'd never say that to the handsome knight's face. But within moments, he was back down, his face now crossed with worry. "We've strayed too close, I could see Winterfell. This close, there's bound to be patrol parties coming through the woods."

"Which way?" Sterlan asked urgently. The last thing they needed was to be caught by Boltons in the Wolfswood.

Darrin pointed to Margaery's right. "We can reach the coast in a day's ride, I believe."

Sterlan nodded. "Get back on your horse. We're leaving. Now."

They went as fast as they dared make the horses go, but it wasn't fast enough. Soon, the sound of barking hounds followed them, echoing through the trees. Sterlan cursed. "They've got our scent. We have to go faster."

"We'll kill the horses if we speed up any more," Brandeth protested.

"We'll get ourselves killed if we don't," Sterlan shot back. "And the Boltons won't have a pleasant end in store for us if they catch us."

"Well then let's go!" Margaery shouted, snapping the reins and spurring on her horse. The guards promptly followed suit, catching up the short distance she made.

Darrin surged ahead, leading the way. "We should head straight North. No point trying to reach the coast now."

"If it gets us out of this godforsaken wood any faster, we should do it," Sterlan said.

Margery could hear the hounds getting louder, and her heart quickened. She leaned over her horse in an effort to go faster, snapping the reins once more. She was not about to be caught by the Boltons. Not after making it this far.

It didn't take long for them to realize that Bolton's hounds were far better equipped to run in the woods, and that they were gaining on them. And if their hounds were close, the patrol couldn't be far behind.

Darrin slowed down, and Margaery followed his lead.

"No, my lady, keep going, as fast as you can," he said, holding up a hand.

Margaery frowned in confusion. "I don't understand, what about you?" she asked.

The other two knights refused to reply, and Sterlan came up beside her, slapping her horse's behind. The beast shot forwards, closely followed by the mounts of the other men, while Darrin stayed behind. "What's happening?" she shouted over the wind. "Where is he going?"

"They would have caught us. It's our sworn duty to protect you!" Brandeth shouted back. And then she realized what was going on. Darrin would hold up the patrol, perhaps even make them think that he was the only one there. He was sacrificing himself for her.

Margaery choked down a sob. There would be time to mourn later; now, they had to get away. His sacrifice would not be in vain.

/*/

She didn't know how long they'd been riding after they left Darrin behind. She was terrified, exhausted, and stricken by Darrin's death all at once. Although, maybe he got away, maybe he was still leading them on a different path, maybe… But she knew in her heart that she was only trying to convince herself.

She shook off her thoughts and steeled herself. Now was not the time. There was only one goal: survive.

Eventually, night fell, though Margaery knew it wasn't that late yet. In the North, the days didn't last long. They slowed down somewhat; the horses wouldn't be able to keep up the frantic pace much longer. "Can you hear the hounds anymore?" she asked Sterlan.

He listened for a moment before shaking his head. "But that doesn't mean they're not on our trail anymore. We can't rest for the night."

Margaery cursed under her breath. "We need a body of water, something to throw them off the trail," Brandeth said, hearing her.

Sterlan consulted his map again. "The closest water source is at Deepwood Motte. We're nowhere close," he said grimly. "I think."

Margaery groaned. Their mad dash must have gotten them even more off course than they had been before. "Damn this wood. Which way should we go?"

Sterlan sighed, putting his map away. "When in doubt, we should head north. It's away from the Lannisters in King's Landing, and away from the Boltons here."

She nodded, clenching her jaw. "Then let's keep going."

Without warning, an arrow pierced straight through Brandeth's neck. He gurgled, clutching at his throat and making a horrific choking sound as blood poured down his chest. Margaery watched in horror as he slid from his horse, but one of his feet got stuck in the stirrups. His horse reared as a Bolton man crashed through the bushes, taking off and dragging the poor knight behind him.

"Go, now!" Sterlan shouted to Margaery, already turning to the other man.

Margaery hesitated for a moment longer, but she knew it would be pointless to argue now. She took off, sending her horse after Brandeth's panicked one. It had cleared something of a path in the undergrowth, and ,though the trail of blood made her nauseous, it was her best choice.

She had to keep going, no matter what. She had to survive.

/*/

It took her two days before she reached water. She had no idea where she was; if she was getting close to Deepwood Motte, or heading towards the Wall, but she had no choice. She had to keep going. She stopped long enough to refill her canteen before getting back on her mount, ignoring the furious saddle sores on the insides of her thighs.

When she finally found a shallow enough passing, she made her way across the river. She wasn't sure, but she thought the river would feed into a lake farther down. Once at the other bank, she followed it north, wanting to keep the source of water close.

Her problem wasn't water, however, it was food. She only had a small dagger, and a few meager provisions, and she had no experience hunting or setting traps. At this rate, she'd run out of food in a day. Loras would have known what to do; he'd been the one who'd gotten to learn this sort of thing.

She couldn't keep going through the night, neither her horse nor she could keep that up. But every night when she lay down her head to sleep, she thought she heard the hounds. And even if she managed to sleep, she saw Darrin sacrifice himself, saw Brandeth's throat pierced. And who knew what had happened to Sterlan? She was truly alone.

At least, that's what she thought.

It wasn't until her horse died of exhaustion and starvation that she realized just how alone she was, in the cold, dark northern woods.

She wondered how hard would it be to lie down and not get up. _How long would it take for the Boltons to find me and flay me living?_ She found that she didn't even care anymore.

But she kept going.

She'd promised Sterlan, Darrin, Brandeth, and her grandmother before that, that she would keep going. And it was that one thought that consumed her mind. She could think of nothing else as she kept putting one blistered, bleeding foot in front of the other, until…

Until nothing.

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 **A/N: Be sure to let us know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello beautiful readers!**

 **This is Anne, updating instead of MaryEvH, since she's travelling and thus not in posession of an internet connection. But have no fear! Zorro is he- wait, no, wrong fandom... Oh well. I'm still here to update in her place, and I can tell you that the revisions on chapter 4 are nearly done! Yay!**

 **As for this chapter; we finally get some Jon POV, you guys had to wait long enough for that. Also, we made Pyp a ranger because we didn't want to create an unnecessary OC. Oh, and Jon was elected Lord Commander in season 4, right around the time the Purple Wedding took place.**

 **We know it's been 2 weeks since our last update, so we won't keep you any longer, enjoy, and leave a review!** **  
** **-Anne &Mary**

* * *

As if patrolling south of the Wall in the summer snows wasn't bad enough, Pyp was in a patrol party with Ser Alliser Thorne. It had made enough sense that Jon - or rather, Lord Commander Snow - had appointed him First Ranger, but why did it have to be _him_? _There was never a nastier, more sour old man._

Grenn's voice caught them both by surprise, and jerked Pyp out of his self-pitying reverie. "Ser Alliser!" he shouted, a few yards off. Pyp could see that he was off his horse, squatting in the snow next to a dark shape. "You may want to come take a look at this."

The First Ranger spurred his horse to the right, following the sound of Grenn's voice. Pyp followed suit, squinting through the falling snow to see what Grenn had found. "Is that a girl?" he asked, trying to keep an incredulous note from his voice.

Ser Alliser dismounted, crouching down next to Grenn. "Aye," he confirmed in his rough voice. "And she's not in good shape."

Pyp got off his horse and took a spot between his two fellow Rangers, looking over the girl. Ser Alliser's assessment appeared to be a serious understatement - besides the fact that she was unconscious, Pyp could see huge blisters on her feet through the tatters of her boots, some of which had cracked open and started to bleed. She had various cuts and bruises all over her body, and her hair was horribly matted.

"Shouldn't we take her to Winterfell?" Grenn asked dubiously. "They're Wardens of the North."

"Are you mad, Grenn?" Pyp snapped. "The Boltons are in Winterfell, and they'll not do anything good with her. They're treasonous bastards. We're in the Gift, at any rate. This is Night's Watch territory. We should take her back to Castle Black, so Maester Aemon can patch her up."

Ser Alliser nodded curtly in agreement, as he always did. "Help me tie her to my saddle, and we'll go straight back. The sooner we get her to Maester Aemon, the better."

/*/

Lord Commander Jon Snow went through the papers on his desk, counting the pleas for more men that sounded more and more desperate as he read them over. They'd all been signed; now Sam simply needed to tie them to ravens and send them off. He'd gotten a rather alarming message that morning - " _His Grace King Joffrey is dead, killed by his uncle, the Imp. The Crown offers 1,000 gold dragons to anyone who can locate his conspirators, Lady Sansa Stark, wife to the Imp, and Queen Margaery Tyrell."_

 _Gods be good, Sansa. Be careful._ He worried for his younger half-sister, still trapped in the political circles of King's Landing after all that had already happened to their family. He reached down to pet a sleeping Ghost as he thought. _Father beheaded, on Joffrey's orders. Bran and Rickon burned at Winterfell. The castle put to the torch by the ironborn. Sansa married off to Tyrion Lannister. Robb and Lady Stark butchered at the Twins. And no one's seen Arya since-_

A knock on the door interrupted his macabre train of thought. "Lord Commander," Ser Alliser's voice said through the heavy oak. Ghost woke up at the sound, shifting to stretch out his long legs.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, and in strode his First Ranger. "Ser Alliser," Jon greeted tiredly. "How was the patrol?" He hadn't expected anything out of the ordinary had happened. After all, it was the northern side of the wall they had to worry about.

"We found something, my lord."

Jon looked up, much more alert, even as dread filled him. "Wildlings?"

"Nothing of the sort, my lord. We found a girl."

For a moment, Jon just stared. Then he blinked. "A girl?" he asked, uncomprehending. What did he mean 'a girl'?

A sneer crossed the older man's face. "Yes, a _girl_. Can't have been that long since you've stuck your cock in one, as I recall. Didn't we discuss your Wildling bitch on the panel?"

Jon glared as he stood up from his desk. "Get to the point, Ser Alliser," he said coldly. Behind him, he heard Ghost growling softly, his hackles raised.

The First Ranger smirked. "We were on patrol, found the girl just south of Queen's Crown. Ain't anything more to it."

Jon was quickly losing his patience. "Where is she now? Did she say anything? Was she wearing any kind of sigil?" he questioned. He made it clear with his tone that he didn't appreciate Ser Alliser's purposefully incomplete report. Echoing his master's frustration, Ghost barked, snapping his jaw at the older man.

Narrowing his eyes minutely, Ser Alliser put a hand on his sword, clenching his fist. The huge direwolf clearly made him nervous - and he wasn't even fully grown. "She was unconscious when Grenn spotted her. No sigil or heraldry of any kind, but she looked like she'd been spit out of the seventh hell. Maester Aemon's looking at her now."

"Perhaps I'll ask him for a report then. You're dismissed, Ser," he said. From the sour look on his face, it was clear he didn't appreciate being treated like a common soldier, but Jon couldn't care less. Ghost followed him as he went straight from his chambers to the small infirmary, almost on the other side of Castle Black.

He knocked, and Sam promptly answered the door. "Ah, Lord Commander," he smiled. "I've almost finished tending to this cut on Olly's head."

Jon leaned around the corner to see his steward sitting up on a cot, a reckless grin on his face. "You finished getting into mischief now?" he teased gently, also grinning. The Night's Watch had taken in the boy when Wildlings sacked his hamlet, and after his election, Jon had immediately taken him under his wing, as the Old Bear had done for him when he arrived at Castle Black.

"And to what do we owe this visit, Lord Commander?" Maester Aemon's wiry voice called from the other side of the room.

Jon turned to face the source. He would never understand how a blind man could do such an incredible job as a healer. "I just got a...rather incomplete report from Ser Alliser," he said carefully. "He told me that he found a girl in the woods by Queen's Crown, and that she was in bad shape, but nothing more. I was hoping you could expound on that."

The elderly maester chuckled, turning on his little stool next to the mystery girl's cot. "That's certainly one way of describing this girl's condition. There are multiple bleeding wounds on her feet, and I don't think she's eaten in several days. Other than that, she has some minor scrapes and bruises, saddle sores-"

"Saddle sores?" Jon asked sharply, though he had never dared to interrupt the maester before. "Ser Alliser said they'd found her passed out in the snow, he didn't mention a horse."

"They're half a week old," Maester Aemon replied. "Judging by the condition of her feet, she most likely continued on foot when she couldn't ride anymore."

Jon frowned in thought as he tried to piece together all this strange information, looking her over. "What was she running from that she kept going, even in her condition?" he wondered aloud.

"What lies south of here, Jon Snow?" Maester Aemon said slowly, in a reasonable voice.

He took a deep breath, a frown crossing his face. "Winterfell…" But something about this whole situation seemed off to Jon, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. Anyone with half a sound mind would run from the Boltons. He'd ask the girl when she woke. Curiously, he stepped closer to take a look at this strange girl, and noted her light hair. It was matted, but pushed back from her face, which was… pretty. She might even be beautiful after she washed off all the grime. But he didn't recognise her. Not that he'd thought he would, but even so…

He ran a hand over his face. It was going to be a long day, and he was already tired. He would leave for Craster's Keep the next day to deal with the remaining mutineers, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He should get back to his chambers to get a few moments of rest before the long journey. But before he could leave, a thought held him back. If he thought she looked pretty now…

"Sam, is Pyp still here somewhere?" he asked.

Sam looked up. "Uh, I think he's outside," he said as he finished up with Olly.

Nodding, Jon turned to the youth. "When you're done here, get him and set up a watch schedule with him whenever you have time. I don't want any of the men harassing her. And tell Maester Aemon to keep an eye on her too. I want her moved to my quarters once I get back."

His best friend frowned. "You're setting up private protection? And doing it yourself? The whole Watch will talk about it, Jon."

"Let them talk," Jon answered firmly. "I don't know what this girl was running from, but I'll be damned to the seventh hell if I don't keep her safe. Besides..." he grinned at his friend before heading to the door, "I'll have plenty of help, won't I?"

/*/

The candles had burned low on his desk, and Jon Snow was still pacing his quarters. Here he was, the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, about to do something that had probably never been done by any of his 997 predecessors.

He sat on his cot, staring at the one on the opposite wall meant for the mystery girl. Maester Aemon had patched up all her wounds, but she'd need more treatments over the course of at least a week. He hoped to be back at Castle Black by then, but he couldn't be certain. He just hoped Pyp would keep his eyes open and watch her carefully.

As soon as she was conscious enough to think clearly, and Jon was back at the Wall, he'd have to ask her who she was, where she came from, and what on earth she'd been running from that left her with saddle sores and bleeding feet south of Queen's Crown. And then he'd have to figure out what to do with her. They wouldn't be able to keep her in his quarters forever...

Unable to sit still, Jon got another fur to put on the cot. The nights were even colder here than the days, and she had the look of a southerner about her. Then he walked to his desk to look over paperwork, which he managed for about two minutes. He'd have to remind Sam to send the last half of those ravens tomorrow. He started pacing again, trying to keep from worrying too much, to no avail.

Finally, someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Jon called out, sitting back down at his desk and attempting to appear composed. Olly pushed it open, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Maester Aemon gave her milk of the poppy. She should be asleep for another few days," he said. It sounded as though the Maester had made him memorize it, which almost made Jon smile in amusement.

Jon nodded in approval. "Thank you, Olly." The boy nodded. "Anything else you require, Lord Commander?"

"Not tonight. You're dismissed."

The door closed, and Jon was alone once again. He ran a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. What in seven hells was he doing? He felt the urge to go see the mystery woman, and - after another few minutes of pointless work - gave in to the temptation.

Pyp stood outside the Maester's chambers, and nodded to Jon as he passed him. Inside, it was almost silent, save for the quiet breathing of the woman on the cot.

He took a cautious step towards her, as if he was afraid to wake her. He could see that her hair had been washed and combed; it looked significantly better than it did before. It occurred to him to wonder who would've taken the time, but he brushed off the thought as he gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face. He had been right about one thing - she was very pretty, and looked no older than Sansa. He wondered what her name was.

Behind him, he could hear Ghost softly padding up to her cot, sniffing curiously at her bandaged feet. He hadn't even heard the Wolf follow him inside. Jon looked to the beast. "What do you think, Ghost?" he murmured softly, scratching his direwolf behind the ears. He made a noise deep in his throat. Jon would call it a purr if it had been made by a cat. He grinned. "I'm glad you like her; you can help me keep the lads away from her when we get back. That sound alright to you?" Ghost looked up at him, tilting his head. Jon almost thought he saw approval in his red eyes. "Good boy," Jon said softly, scratching his head. "Now, let's get some sleep. We've got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

/*/

Margaery didn't know how long she'd been unconscious when she finally woke up. The first thing she noticed was that her whole body was incredibly sore, but her wounds had been bound, and...she was wrapped up in something. Something warm. As she cracked open her eyes, she struggled to remember where she was, but all she remembered was pain and cold. The room was dark, save for a candle on a writing desk in the corner of the room. She could make out a few other cots and some shelves, and concluded that someone must have brought her to a Maester.

Abruptly, she sat up, though she immediately winced and had to lay back down. But that didn't diminish her panic. She'd been in the North. The only Maester they could have brought her to was at Winterfell. And she knew what the Boltons did to their enemies.

However, looking down at the bandages covering her body - and the slightly ill-fitting men's clothing she now wore - she couldn't help but be confused. The Boltons would surely have thrown her into a dungeon or flayed her alive, so why were her wounds tended to? Why was she on a - more or less - comfortable cot? In a passing thought, she hoped to the gods that the Maester had undressed her, and not a Bolton man.

But the fear wouldn't recede, and as time slipped by, Margaery became more and more afraid that a Bolton guard would come in and drag her down to a torture chamber. So, despite her protesting body, she sat up and threw her legs over the side. For a moment, her breath left her lungs as her body screamed in pain. Biting her lip, Margaery forced her muscles cooperate and pushed off the bed… her vision went black, and when she opened her eyes again, she was on the ground trying her best not to cry out.

There was a shuffling at the door, and panic seized her again. But the pain was too much, and she couldn't move on her own.

"Seven hells!" someone muttered, and soon, a few more candles were lit and a round-faced man appeared in her line of vision. She tried to shy away from him, but there was nowhere to go. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently, slowly reaching out a hand. "My name's Sam. You're at the Wall, miss," he said.

That gave Margaery pause. The Wall? Had they drifted that far north? A stab of pain went through her heart as she remembered her brave knights falling one by one, but she pushed it aside. She had more pressing concerns.

"The Wall?" she rasped. Her throat burned, too, now that she was paying attention to it. How long had she been asleep?

"Yes, at Castle Black. Please, can I help you up? That can't be comfortable," he said. He had a soft, gentle voice, more of a tenor than a bass. That and his accent - she could tell he was from the Reach - were enough to make her think that perhaps he was telling the truth. And besides, laying on the floor like this was only aggravating her smarting body. She nodded hesitantly.

He reached out slowly, and took her by the arms, helping her down onto the cot again. While it had felt hard and uncomfortable at first, it was like laying on clouds compared to the cold floor. "There, that's better," he said, and walked over to the writing desk. For a moment, Margaery felt her fear spike again, but then he returned with a goblet of water, and she mentally chastened her own frayed nerves. She took a careful sip, even though she wanted to throw the goblet back and guzzle it in one go. If there was one thing she had learned from her 3 weeks on the road, it was that drinking too much all at once - especially if it had been a while since you'd drunk anything - was a bad idea.

"How long was I unconscious?" she asked softly, her throat slightly better off with the water she'd drunk.

"Well, you've been here for about 4 days now, but we're not sure how long you were out in the snow," the man - Sam - said hesitantly. He seemed friendly enough, and Margaery felt herself relaxing, even as her body still ached. Her eyes were falling closed, but she was scared of what would happen if she fell asleep.

Some of her fears must have shown on her face, because Sam was quick to reassure her. "The Lord Commander ordered me and Pyp - Pypar, he's a ranger - to watch over you and make sure no one bothers you. Maester Aemon wouldn't stand for it either. And you'll be under the Lord Commander's personal protection when he gets back, besides."

She wanted to ask more, to get some answers, but her eyelids were _so_ heavy. They slipped closed even as she fought it.

"You'll be safe, here, miss," Sam said softly, blowing out a candle.

She blinked. The candles were all gone, and Sam had apparently taken up his vigil near the door again. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad if she slept, just for a little while. Just… a little… while…

 **A/N: So, lots of stuff happening, and more stuff being set in motion. I had to rewrite a whole ton of this because we realized some of our timing didn't add up. So I edited it, and MaryEvH looked it over for plotholes and general inconsistencies. If we left any in, please let us know!**

 **And please let us know what you think about the chapter!**

 **-A &M**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello again, my dears! It's MaryEvH, back online. First order of business - my thanks to Anne for updating in my stead last chapter, since I was spending update day in airports! She might just visit on FF from time to time; who knows. ;)**

 **But back to business. We worked really hard on this chapter, and it's a little longer, so we hope you'll enjoy it!**

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When her eyes opened again, she wasn't sure how long she had been asleep. But there was an old man puttering about the room, moving from the writing desk to the cupboards and back. He was wearing black Maester's robes, and stood hunched, supporting himself on the back of a chair as he moved back and forth, his chain quietly rattling as he moved.

Margaery thought of announcing her current wakeful state, but then reconsidered. The Maester hadn't noticed her yet, and she needed some time to think.

She was Margaery Tyrell. She had married first Renly Baratheon, and then Joffrey Baratheon. They were both dead. She was accused of conspiring to kill one of them. Sterlan, Brandeth, and Darrin were all dead. They died to save her. A sob tore at her throat, but Margaery wouldn't let it.

 _She_ had nearly died. Now she was at Castle Black, with no idea what would happen to her here. Her sight went blurry, though she still stubbornly refused to let her tears fall.

She was _Margaery Tyrell_. She was strong, and she would get through this. She would bend this situation to her advantage, as she always did when adversity struck. She _would_ survive.

Her throat ached from holding back her emotions, though through the pain that still laced the rest of her body, she hardly noticed. No one deserved to see her tears, so she swallowed it back and closed her eyes.

One drop managed to slip through before she got a hold of herself again.

When she opened her eyes again, the Maester had stopped and was facing her, his head cocked as if to listen to something. And maybe he was…as she took a closer look, now that there was light in the room, she could tell that there was something off about his gaze. He was staring at a point somewhere over her head. Was he…?

"Yes, my dear, I'm blind. But that's hardly our first concern here," he said, not unkindly. Margaery jumped. She hadn't made a sound, how had he known she was awake? "I may be blind, but that only makes my other senses sharper," he chuckled, as though he had read her mind.

"I'm sorry," she croaked.

He leaned heavily on the back of his chair. "No matter, child. How do you feel?"

She took a deep breath. Such a simple question, but the answer was so complicated that she hardly knew where to begin. "Just tired," she lied. What an inadequate thing to say.

But the Maester nodded. "And the pain?"

"Bearable." She wanted to keep her answers short, to the point. She couldn't risk saying too much, no matter how benign anyone's questions seemed. No one could find out who she was, in any way.

But before the Maester could say more, a bleary-eyed man stumbled in. "Sorry, Maester Aemon, I'm awake now!" he said in a rush.

The corner of the Maester's lips twitched in what could almost be called a smile. "So I hear," he responded.

Then the new man's eyes landed on Margaery. She noticed that he was slight and had jet black hair, which was cut close to his head. She had no idea who he was, though he looked at her with familiarity. "You're awake!"

"So I am," she replied as evenly as she could manage.

"Oh, sorry!" he said, stepping closer. "Of course you wouldn't remember, you were unconscious!" he said. Margaery raised her eyebrows. He was certainly a strange one. The man quickly turned red. "I'm one of the Rangers who found you," he explained. "My name's Pypar, but everyone here calls me Pyp."

She managed a smile, despite her exhaustion. She remembered Sam mentioning this Pyp before, and he seemed kind. "I'm Bethany," she said. "Bethany Flowers."

"I'll let you take up your watch now, Pyp," the Maester said in his coarse voice, placing one hand on the edge of Margaery's cot to stand as he made his way to his desk.

He grinned and sat down where Maester Aemon had been. Margaery briefly wished for a buffer, but she remembered Sam mentioning this man as someone the Lord Commander personally trusted to guard her. "Flowers, eh? So you're from the Reach, then. I'm from the Riverlands myself, but I've heard it's beautiful there."

She smiled. "It really is. And the harvest festivals are spectacular. But I must say that I've never made it to the Riverlands, what are they like?"

Pyp sighed. "If you're a highborn, life is easy. Especially if you're a Tully. But for the rest of us...we get by. We stay inside when the heavy rains come, but it makes the land even more green and beautiful."

She turned over to look at him. "What brought you to the Wall, Pyp?" He looked uncomfortable, and Margaery was suddenly reminded that most men at the Wall were there because they were criminals. But she just couldn't imagine Pyp doing anything of the kind.

"Uhm… I stole a wheel of cheese. My little sister hadn't eaten in three days, so…" he trailed off. "They gave me a choice - my right hand, or the Wall. So I came here."

Margaery smiled at him. "That was a very noble thing to do, taking care of your sister like that."

She almost thought she saw Pyp blushing. "Well, thank you." They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only other sound in the room being Maester Aemon's wanderings. "So how did you end up this far North? Daughter of a noble in the Reach, and all that," he said, trailing off.

Margaery hesitated. She hated lying, pretending to be someone she was not, but she saw the logic in it. She had no choice now. "My half-brother and I were going to Bear Island, to trade in our father's name. But it seems the Boltons will not suffer anyone to pass without going through them."

Pyp shuddered when she mentioned the Boltons. "Aye, they're a nasty lot. Did you hear about what happened to the Starks at the Twins? Lord Bolton drove his sword through King Robb's heart. Now they're sitting in Winterfell, Wardens of the North." He sighed. "Jon had just been elected Lord Commander when it happened. He took the news hard. And he was having to deal with Ser Thorne being pissed for not being made Lord Commander." Suddenly Pyp started. "Oh, sorry for the language, m'lady!"

Margaery suppressed a smile, she'd heard far worse at Highgarden. "That's perfectly alright, Pyp. I can only imagine how hard it must have been for Lord Commander Snow, to lose his family like that..."

"The entire Watch thought Thorne was being awful about it, except Janos Slynt," Pyp replied, rolling his eyes at the name. "And he's just as bad."

"Even so, dying at the hands of the Boltons...their reputation is known throughout Westeros, and I imagine it's not been exaggerated."

"I don't know how anyone could exaggerate the Boltons' reputation, truthfully," Pyp replied.

Margaery rolled back over, now flat on her back to look at the ceiling. The Boltons were horrible, but everything seemed so far away at the Wall. And Margaery far preferred to contemplate it as opposed to the Boltons. So she settled in under her blanket and decided to rest while she could. Perhaps Castle Black wasn't as bad as it seemed.

/*/

It had been three days since he left Castle Black, though it felt closer to three years, especially as he reviewed the raid in his head, over and over. Three days since he last saw civilization, and Jon desperately looked forward to sleeping in his own quarters again. That thought sparked a memory, though, and Jon remembered that the unknown girl would be sharing those quarters with him.

He quickly put it out of his mind, calling Grenn forward. "How close are we to the Wall?"

The ranger consulted his map. "About a day or so, I'd say," he replied. "Possibly closer."

Jon nodded. They were making even better progress than he expected. "Thank you. You can return to your place in the convoy," he said. "I need to think." He spurred his horse forward a little faster as Grenn rode further back. One more day to go - maybe less - and he was back where he belonged.

He started thinking back to the Wildlings further north as the convoy moved steadily towards home. It had been just over a month since he had abandoned Ygritte and Tormund south of the Wall. He knew what their orders were. What he didn't know was why they hadn't been carried out yet.

Perhaps Ser Alliser was right - maybe Mance's army had finally fallen into chaos. He remembered hearing the man's condescending words as a newly-minted Lord Commander - "You can't get 50 Wildlings together before they start killing each other." But Jon had seen Mance's army for himself; the Thenns, the Hornfoots, the Ice River Clans, the giants, the mammoths...he shuddered to think what would happen when they descended on the Wall.

He snapped his reins again, pushing them out of his mind as his horse sped up. Right now, he only needed to get home. The Wildlings would come when they did. Until then, they could only prepare. Pulling his thoughts away from such morbid places, he focussed instead on the landscape in front of him. When they got back, he'd have to brief Maester Aemon and Ser Alliser. And move the mystery girl out of the infirmary. As his thoughts drifted back to her, he wondered if she'd woken up yet, how her recovery was going. He would certainly be curious to talk to her when she was awake. He needed to find out how, by all the gods, a southern girl had wound up at Castle Black, clearly in a hurry to escape something.

 _Or someone. Only time will tell._

/*/

It took a while for Margaery to fully wake up. She had more or less adjusted to the feeling of being at the Wall, but it was still strange to wake up to the extreme cold and snow outside. As she drifted into waking on the fourth day at the Wall - including the two she'd been unconscious - something felt… off. There was more noise outside than she was used to, and she was straining to hear what the commotion was about when the door opened. She expected it to be Maester Aemon, but was pleasantly surprised to see Pyp and Sam both.

"Hello boys, come to keep me company?" she asked, mustering a smile. She'd never seen the two men together, though it was obvious from their conversations that they were friends. She wondered what the occasion was.

"Sort of," Pyp supplied cheerfully. Margaery was almost wary of the grin on his face.

With some alarm, she watched as he helped her sit up on her cot, while Sam gently grabbed her arm. "Would you gentlemen care to explain what exactly you're doing?" she asked, her voice wavering a little, despite her best efforts. She had come to trust the two men who'd guarded her these past few days, but now she was starkly reminded that she hardly knew them at all.

"Don't look so alarmed, Miss Bethany," Sam said, smiling gently. Pyp now took hold of her other arm. "We've been asked to move you to the Lord Commander's private quarters. You'll be under his personal protection. There are some wounded men coming back that need tending to, and they'll need the infirmary."

Margaery had to reorient herself for a moment as dizziness struck her. Sitting up was difficult. "The Lord Commander? I've never even met the man," she said as the two men lifted her up. For men of the Watch, they were surprisingly considerate of her condition, and careful in getting her to her feet. Still, she had to suppress a hiss of pain.

"Don't spend your energy worrying about the Lord Commander," Sam assured her. "He's one of the best men on the Wall. He was the first friend I made when I joined the Watch."

"He's a good man," Pyp agreed. "Could sometimes be a bit of a prat when we first got here, but I suppose we all go through that stage," he grinned at Sam. "I know I did."

Margaery nodded but didn't smile as she normally would have; she was in too much pain. Seven hells, how could it hurt so much? She barely remembered that last day of wandering through the wilderness, but she'd been able to stumble on her own power. How was it possible that after three days of bedrest, she could barely move by herself?

"We're here, Miss Bethany," Sam said softly. He carefully took a better hold of her while Pyp opened the door. The quarters weren't exactly lavish, but then, Margaery hadn't expected them to be. This was the Night's Watch, after all. They were still less austere than the infirmary, with a large desk in one corner, and a cot behind it. A large fireplace was carved into the opposite wall, and it even had a small window over it that looked down to the main courtyard. A cot stood by the fireplace, similar to the one she had been sleeping on in the infirmary. As gently as ever, Sam and Pyp lowered Margaery onto it, settling her down.

"You'd think I was made of glass," she joked, finally managing to smile through her pain.

Pyp blushed. "My mum always said that a lady should be treated with care and respect," he said kindly. "Is there anything else you need, Miss Bethany?"

She sighed. "Just sleep. Even though that's all I've been doing lately," she said, with only a pinch of resignation.

Sam nodded, a glint of sympathy in his expression. "You can call for the Maester or one of us if you need anything," he said.

Margaery smiled thankfully and lay down on the cot, sleep already pulling at her eyes. She was vaguely aware of the men leaving, one of them gently closing the door behind them. But by the time she turned around and snuggled closer into her blanket, her eyes closed and sleep claimed her again.

/*/

The first thing she noticed when she drifted into wakefulness was that she was comfortably warm for the first time since her arrival at the Wall. Then she noticed something sniffing at her face. She snapped her eyes open, and saw red ones staring back. A stout black nose - the source of the sniffing - was right next to her face. She yelped before she could stop herself, clinging to the wall behind her.

"Ghost, to me," an unfamiliar male voice commanded from the other side of the room. A bit to her surprise, the beast immediately obeyed, lumbering silently across the room.

Trying desperately to get her breathing under control, she looked up at the source of the voice. He had dark curly hair and was wrapped in a thick fur cloak, all black. His features seemed hard and brooding, but she sensed something else underneath. Something she couldn't quite pin down. Schooling her features, she sat up more properly, pulling up the blanket to drape around her shoulder. "I apologise, I didn't expect…" she trailed off, her eyes landing on the creature again. It was a wolf, but…it was far bigger than any wolf she had ever heard about.

"A direwolf?" the man supplied. A small, amused smile crossed his face as he reached down to pet the animal. "Don't worry; he likes you."

She looked back up at him, fighting to keep an incredulous look off her face. The _direwolf_ liked her? "Well…I'm glad, I suppose."

For a moment, neither of them said anything, and Margaery was all too aware of the awkward tension in the room. "You must be the Lord Commander I've heard so much about," she offered, just to break the silence.

"That's right," the man said, sitting down on a cot opposite to her own. She was grateful for that; the height difference made her feel even smaller than she was. "My name is Jon Snow."

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 **A/N: So they've finally met! :D Don't forget to leave a review and tell us what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello again, loves! Sorry for leaving you in suspense after that cliffhanger meeting between Jon and Marg, but we hope the conversation in this chapter will be plenty to keep you going before our next update! My regulars know the drill - read, review, and most of all, enjoy!**

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Previously:

 _"That's right," the man said, sitting down on a cot opposite to her own. She was grateful for that; the height difference made her feel even smaller than she was. "My name is Jon Snow."_

"I apologise for not meeting you sooner, my lady," he said. "I was dealing with…matters sensitive to the Watch out beyond the Wall. As you probably know by now, a few of my men found you out in the snow by Queen's Crown a few days ago." He paused, like something unpleasant was about to happen, and an odd feeling settled in Margaery's stomach. "I hate to ask you this, my lady," he said slowly, "but I have to know...what's the last thing you remember before you woke up here?"

She thought carefully for a moment. She didn't know this man, and, despite his station, she didn't know if she could trust him. Better to tell him as little as possible. "I was travelling with my half-brother and two friends. We were on our way to Bear Island when we were attacked by Bolton men. My brother told me to run…so I did. He and his friends gave their lives so I could live." The shaking of her voice was no act. She could still see Brandeth's face as the arrow pierced his throat, and she knew it would haunt her for a long time to come.

The Lord Commander stiffened when she mentioned the name of Winterfell's usurpers, though he tried to hide it. She briefly wondered if this was "Ned Stark's bastard" that the Capitol was always buzzing about. After all, his surname was Snow. "And your name?" he asked in the same stiff tone.

"Bethany Flowers. My half-brother was S-Sterlan Florent of Brightwater Keep," she said, only barely stumbling over the brave knight's name.

She saw a flash of interest in his eyes when she gave him her pseudonym. No doubt he recognized the bastard name of the Reach. "He died to protect you; I'm sure he'd be glad to know you're safe, my lady."

Margaery frowned. "I'm not a lady. I'm just a bastard." It almost hurt to have to deny her heritage like this; it was something she'd always taken pride in. But now, it could mean her death if she revealed it.

He chuckled. "So am I."

Feeling a tad self-conscious, she went to tuck her hair behind her ear. The Lord Commander let out another soft chuckle as he watched her. "You know, you remind me a little of my sister."

Margaery tilted her head, intrigued. "Tell me about her," she asked, letting her lock of hair drop. She really shouldn't care, but she found herself curious. This man acted nothing like she'd expected the Lord Commander of Castle Black to act. Not to mention, he was much younger than she pictured him to be.

The man hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his hair. "She was…a bit of a brat, to be honest," he said with a fond smile.

Margaery raised an eyebrow. "I'm flattered," she said, a little sarcastically. She didn't think he'd meant to insult her, but it was hard not to take offence.

He laughed in earnest now, and Margaery couldn't help but notice that he had a nice smile, even under his battle-hardened exterior. "You didn't let me finish, my lady," he said, and it was all Margaery could do to stop her surprise from showing on her face. That was the fourth time he'd called her a lady. _How can he tell?_ "My little sister was a very proper girl when we were younger, always acting like a Lady, and never letting her composure slip. Except when our other sister managed to rile her up. And then she'd always get her mother involved, trying to blame her little sister, but…" Lord Commander Snow shook his head fondly. "A redhead and a terrible liar, that describes my sister."

Her smile melted off her face. "Red hair?" she asked sharply. "Your sister isn't Sansa Stark." She didn't even bother to pose it as a question, it _couldn't_ be possible.

The man shot up from his seat and loomed over her, his relaxed attitude now nowhere to be found. "Who are you?" he demanded harshly.

Margaery realized her mistake, but she couldn't backtrack now, and she had a feeling that lying wouldn't be in her best interests. Sansa had never spoken of a brother - or even a half-brother - at the Wall, but judging from the way this man spoke of her, they were close.

Now it was her turn to stand, despite the agony that caused. "My name is Margaery Tyrell, and Sansa was my friend, my _only_ friend at King's Landing," she said, looking straight into his eyes, her chin raised. Seven _hells_ but it hurt to stand on her own, but she would _not_ show pain. He was a good head taller than her, and struck an imposing figure, but underneath the guise of Bethany Flowers, she was Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden, and she _would_ _not_ be intimidated.

Jon Snow stared her down for a moment, searching her face for lies. She made sure to keep her features as open as possible. He would not find any untruths in her eyes.

As his shoulders relaxed minutely, Margaery knew that he believed her. He gestured for her to sit, as he took his own seat again. She remained standing for just a moment longer, and perhaps it was a tad petulant, but she didn't care. Then, she sank gratefully down onto the cot, glad to let the pain recede once more.

"What brought you to King's Landing? And how did you know Sansa?" he asked.

Margaery contemplated twisting the story, but she sensed it would get her nowhere with this man. He was…different than any other man she had ever met, and it intrigued her. So she told him everything, from her marriage to Renly forward. When she spoke of Joffrey, Jon almost snarled, but he never once interrupted her. She ended her tale with her desperate flee from King's Landing, and the slaughter of her guards by the Boltons' men. All the while, the white direwolf sat at his feet, silent as a shadow.

"So you don't know where Sansa is now?" he asked calmly. At the shake of her head, he sighed heavily, his hand going to pet the wolf. "She's become a survivor. Living in the capitol made her that way. If she made it out of King's Landing, she'll come here. If not…there's nothing I can do for her."

Margaery already admired him. While he obviously loved his sister, he didn't let that stand in the way of what was in front of him now. "I wish I could have taken her with me," she said softly. "Truly, I do." She had no idea what had happened to her friend in the chaos following the King's death, but she desperately hoped that she was somewhere safe.

Jon offered a sad smile. "Thank you for being her friend while you could. I can only hope she'll show up here soon."

Margaery's eyes wandered back to the direwolf, now lying down at his master's feet again. "What did you say his name was?"

His smile grew. "Ghost." The animal lifted his head to his master at the sound of his name; he was clearly very intelligent.

"Fitting," she murmured, looking at him. Hesitantly, she held out a hand to the animal, looking up to Lord Commander Snow for permission. When he nodded, she leaned forward a bit, her palm still up. Ghost sniffed at her again for a moment, before gently licking her hand. "He's so tame," she said softly, in awe of how gentle and calm he was.

The Lord Commander stood up as Ghost started to nuzzle against Margaery's hand, moving to his desk. "Don't let him fool you; he'd just as soon bite your head off if I told him to," he said very matter-of-factly. Margaery pulled her hand back, suddenly content to just be near the animal. "My brothers and I found a litter of six pups in the woods outside Winterfell. Probably not too far from where you wound up. Their mother was dead; we knew they wouldn't last on their own. I convinced my father to let us have them, rather than kill them. All I had to do was remind him that the direwolf is the sigil of House Stark." He laughed again. "Believe it or not, Ghost here was the runt of the litter."

She smiled softly at him. "Hard to believe, indeed." She paused, now petting him lightly. "It was very kind of you to let them live. Most men would have killed them and not given it a second thought."

"Direwolves have a reputation for being vicious creatures," Jon said. "Part of the reason they're a house sigil. No one thinks of them as pets until you train them. They're very loyal." He reached down to scratch Ghost's neck. "He and I went beyond the Wall together. I owe him my life several times over."

Margaery looked up in shock. "You've been beyond the Wall?" He'd said as much earlier, but she'd been focussed on other matters at the time. Now, it dawned on her that he must have had several excursions beyond this castle's northern gates.

"Aye. It's a wonder I didn't lose him out there; it's nothing but snow as far as the eye can see," he laughed.

"All I've ever heard of the land beyond the Wall are horror stories," she said. "They-"

A knock interrupted their conversation. "Lord Commander?" a young voice called out.

"Come in, Olly," Jon called in response. A 12-year-old boy opened the door, carrying a tray of food - including meat scraps that were clearly for Ghost - with a few notes on one side. His eyes stopped on Margaery and Ghost, and she immediately looked away. "This is Bethany," Jon quickly stepped in to alleviate the awkwardness. "She'll be staying here until we can find somewhere for her to go. I want you to care for her as you do for me."

The boy - Olly - nodded. "Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"Not for now. I'll send for you if I need you." He bowed to Jon, awkwardly half-smiling at Margaery, before taking his leave, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. "That's Olly, my steward," he said. "The Watch brought him here after his hamlet was sacked by Wildlings. I took him in, just as the previous Lord Commander did for me."

Margaery smiled. "You're very kind, Lord Commander Snow," she said softly, looking back at the snow-white direwolf. "You have a good heart."

He smiled, and she almost thought he was blushing. "You don't have to call me that when we're alone, my lady. I'm Jon," he said, looking to the side somewhat awkwardly.

"Then I'm Margaery," she replied with a smile.

/*/

All through the night, Jon and Margaery talked over a skin of wine. She wanted to hear about his mission beyond the Wall, infiltrating Mance Rayder's army, and his subsequent escape, while he asked her about Highgarden, King's Landing, and the politics. Periodically, Ghost would either nap in the corner, or put his head in one of their laps.

However, the conversation quickly got personal. Margaery wrapped her arms loosely around herself during a pause, staring into the burning fire. She could feel Jon Snow's gaze on her, but she didn't feel at all threatened or afraid. It seemed as though he was merely curious to see what she would say.

"When I left Renly's camp for King's Landing…" she began slowly, before a quiet scoff left her. "Of course I knew exactly what was happening. After he died and I was…" she paused awkwardly. "Well, still a virgin, Father needed me to be a political bargaining chip. Marrying me off to Joffrey was...the most logical thing to do." She paused.

"But then came the wedding," Jon supplied, taking a drink of his wine.

She nodded, a sigh creeping into her voice when she echoed him. "But then came the wedding. Clawing at his own throat, looking to his mother to make it stop…it was horrible. Grandmother must have known something was going to happen, the way she smuggled me out. It was clearly orchestrated with our guards ahead of the ceremony."

"Perhaps she just wanted to save you from the wrath of Cersei Lannister," Jon suggested. "She'd already threatened to strangle you in your sleep if you called her sister."

"True," Margaery acknowledged, taking a drink. "Still...I never thought things would end up this way. Both my husbands dead, my close knights dead protecting me, my friends and family estranged, with no way for me to contact them…" a heavier sigh left her. "I know I can't trust a raven to carry any word to my father. Not even that I'm still alive. It's so isolating."

Jon chuckled, a bit to her surprise. "Believe me, I know how isolating the Wall is," he assured her. "But I hope you can also find some valuable companionship here."

She smirked a little. "I believe I already have, if it's not too bold to say."

Jon quickly ducked his head, trying to hide his blush. "At least you didn't have to worry about entanglements of love with King Joffrey. The woman I loved...chose a different life," he said slowly, thinking about Ygritte. It was surprisingly easy for him to talk about her, despite the way everything had ended.

"I have to admit, it's a little surprising to hear you speak of a woman, considering…" she trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable.

Jon shrugged. "It's against our vows, but we're still human. It's hard to resist, but it still happens sometimes…and I had to _be_ one of them."

Margaery tilted her head, seeming slightly confused. "One of them?"

Jon took a drink. "She was a Wildling in Mance's army. I 'joined' their band after Qhorin Halfhand and I were captured beyond the Wall. That was when we...fell in love, I suppose."

"It's funny," she said, her hands sitting in her lap around her wine cup. "I've been married twice, but I've never had the privilege of falling in love."

Jon laughed as he spoke. "Well, the last time we saw each other, she shot me three times, so it might not be all that you expect it to be."

Margaery raised her eyebrows in shock. "That sounds like quite a story," she said, taking a drink.

He sighed. "When I came back...even after I was elected, no one else believed that the Halfhand wanted me to kill him. He knew our only chance to stop Mance was to get a man inside his army. I had to prove myself to the Free Folk. I traveled with them for a while, until we got south of the Wall. When I refused to kill an innocent farmer...so instead, I had to kill their warg and three others. Then I had to come back here, but Ygritte caught up to me and shot me full of arrows. The next thing I knew, I was in Maester Aemon's quarters getting patched up."

She frowned. "But...how did you get past the Wall?"

He tried to grin, but he was sure it was closer to a grimace. "We climbed."

Margaery's jaw dropped. "That…is quite impressive," she managed.

Jon laughed. "It was definitely harrowing. And not something that bears repetition." He paused to take another drink. "There were four of us tied together on each rope. I was on the bottom of mine. Each of us had two pickaxes, and special devices laced onto our boots to help us keep our grips. The leader of my group, Tormund Giantsbane, was at the top of the rope, nailing in the supports for the rope - and then each of our feet in turn."

Her eyes were wide with amazement. "Incredible."

"Hardly the word I would use," Jon chuckled, refilling her cup. "Tell me more about King's Landing. How was Sansa when you last saw her?"

Margaery resumed her story from her arrival at King's Landing, but now in much more detail, especially as it related to Sansa. He winced when she spoke more of Cersei Lannister's viciousness, even in the face of Margaery's kindness to her. "She saw you as a threat to her place in Joffrey's life," Jon said flatly, and she could tell that he knew he was right. He tossed another scrap to Ghost, which the animal caught in his huge jaws easily, chewing contentedly in his small corner of the room.

Margaery grinned at him; Jon was glad the two of them had already adapted to each other so well. "Do you want to see the rest of Castle Black?" he asked as soon as the thought came into his head, putting down the wineskin on his desk.

She blinked, surprised at the offer. "I would love to, if I may," she replied, getting up from where she sat and setting down her wine.

Jon smiled. "Of course. To me, Ghost," he called, patting the side of his leg.

They walked down the stairs from the Lord Commander's tower into the mess hall. Jon showed her the high table, where he sat, and talked about meal times, and his election as Lord Commander. She loved it when he told her Maester Aemon had to be the tie-breaking vote. "He might be the most respected man in the whole Watch. Even more than me," Jon laughed. But they hadn't gone more than a few yards before they ran into a small group of men.

"Oi, Lord Commander, she can sleep in our room if you're tired of her," one of the men shouted suggestively as the others sniggered. Jon opened his mouth to tell them off, but Ghost beat him to the chase. The wolf stepped out from behind his master to stand in front of Margaery, growling angrily. Jon could see that the man quickly regretted his words, but Ghost was sure to chase him off with a bark for good measure.

Jon sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about that," he said as soon as the men were out of earshot. "They haven't seen a girl since they got to the Wall, sometimes they forget how to behave…"

Margaery simply smiled down at Ghost, petting him gently. "It's alright; it would appear I have a protector," she laughed. "And you forget that I've spent quite some time in bad parts of the Reach; I've heard far worse."

Jon nodded, both upset at the man for harassing Margaery, and proud of Ghost for coming to her defense. He scratched the direwolf's head in appreciation. "Come on, I'll show you the training grounds, and then…" he grinned. "There's a surprise."

Her eyebrows went up. "A surprise?"

"Olly, find a cloak for Bethany to borrow," Jon said as his steward came around the corner. The boy hurried off, quickly returning with a thick, black cloak, similar to Jon's. They walked the huge courtyard where the men trained, Jon pointing out the armoury on the other side, before they made it to the lift. "Now, you might want to put that cloak on."

"We're going up there?" she asked, sounding excited. Jon grinned at her and held out the cloak. As Margaery wrapped it around her shoulders, Jon led the way into the lift, closing the door behind her. The rectangular box slowly began to wind its way up, whining and wobbling slightly in the wind. Jon watched the rest of the castle grow smaller and smaller beneath them, wondering what she thought of all this.

Finally, the lift came to a stop. Jon opened the door, gesturing for Margaery to exit first. "And what's up here, Lord Commander?" she asked, almost coyly.

Jon grinned. "The edge of the world."

He watched her step out of the lift, glancing around at her surroundings, before she stepped out closer to the edge. Jon followed, a few steps behind her, and heard her gasp as she looked down. "Gods above..." she whispered. "The edge of the world, indeed. I've never had a view like this in my life."

His smile grew. "This is what the world looks like from 700 feet above the ground."

"And you _climbed_ that?" she asked incredulously, looking up at him.

"Aye. But to a slightly lower point than this," he chuckled. "The Wildlings knew they couldn't exactly summit the Wall at Castle Black."

Margaery nodded in understanding, returning her gaze to the land below as she pulled the cloak a little tighter around her shoulders. "There's so much more out there…" she said softly. "So much that I barely knew existed."

Jon took his gaze from Margaery to look into the distance. "Look," he pointed. "The sun is rising." He saw her gaze go out to the edge of the sky. The first rays of light had just made their way over the tops of the trees, but it was already looking to be a bright, clear morning. Soft pinks, purples, and yellows were reflected on the few clouds, gradually fading as the light got brighter. It was all augmented by the reflection of the light off the snow on the ground.

He saw Margaery's eyes close, just as the sun started to light her face. She had pulled the cloak a little tighter around her shoulders as a chilly breeze came up to meet them, but Jon was watching the way the sun played off the angles of her face, the hint of a smile that was tugging at her lips as she inhaled and exhaled slowly. He had never seen anyone so calm and peaceful before. And gods, she really was beautiful.

"If you'll pardon me, my lady, I have to go back down and address the men at breakfast," he said. "You can stay up here as long as you like. I'll leave Ghost with you so you're not by yourself."

She smiled, opening eyes and turning to him. "Thank you, Lord Commander. I'll likely still be here when you're done," she laughed.

Jon's smile widened. "Then I'll be back to get you. Stay, Ghost," he said, getting into the lift alone.

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 **A/N: Be sure to let us know what you think!**

 **-A &M**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello dears!**

 **We're back, and actually making a habit of updating on time! How about that. :D We know you've been waiting patiently (or maybe not so patiently), so without further ado, here's chapter 6!**

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Margaery sat atop the Wall, Ghost's huge muzzle sitting in her lap as she watched the sunrise. She was petting the direwolf's head, thankful for the cloak Jon's steward - Olly, that was the boy's name - had procured for her. She could hardly believe that just a few short weeks ago, she had been fleeing King's Landing for her life, after watching her second husband choke to death from poison. Now, she was here, at the edge of the world, in the care of a man who seemed...different.

Jon Snow was certainly a good kind of different, though Margaery had been surprised that the Lord Commander kept a direwolf as a pet. But he seemed like a truly kind man, which was an all too rare thing in Westeros. Who knew that kindness and mercy could be found at the Wall, of all places? Before now, she had thought of the Wall as a place where the roughest men of the Realm went to defend them against the Wildlings. Only after being there did she realize how nuanced the Watch truly was.

Margaery sighed, thinking back over the last few weeks. She missed her grandmother and brother terribly. She hoped they were both alright, but she trusted that her father would've sent them back to Highgarden to keep them safe. The weeks on the road had exhausted her, and though she was healing physically, she still felt drained mentally. Thinking about her family led to thinking about her guards, and before she could stop herself, a sob escaped her. While fleeing from the Boltons, she hadn't had time to grieve, but here, at the edge of the world, perhaps she could.

Offering a silent prayer to the gods, Margaery closed her eyes and remembered Brandeth's cheerful smile, Darrin's exaggerated tales, and Sterlan's steadfast companionship. They had given their lives so that she may live, but while most lords and ladies would consider this merely their duty, Margaery needed to grieve for their deaths. If she ever made it back to Highgarden, she would make sure that their families knew about their bravery.

She was startled from her thoughts when something wet touched her cheek. Ghost was inches from her face, nuzzling her cheeks. He seemed content to let her pet him, and slowly, her tears stopped falling. The direwolf was definitely a mystery, she thought as she stroked his coarse fur. _Not unlike his master._

Once again, her thoughts drifted back to the Lord Commander, and she couldn't help but be intrigued by him. She didn't know him well enough to call him a friend, but she was tempted to. He'd been kind to her, even where he had no obligation to be, and perfectly courteous, where so many others would have tried to take advantage of her.

Gently putting an arm around the big white beast next to her, she sighed. "I think you would have quite the story to tell, if you could talk, Ghost. And I'd be very interested to hear it." The direwolf titled his head towards her, almost like he was listening. "Your master perplexes me. Perhaps you could tell me all about Jon Snow."

"I don't know if I could tell you everything, but I definitely have a few stories to tell." The voice came from behind her, and Margaery jumped. Ghost, however, remained passive, merely turning his head to look at the newcomer.

It was only Pyp, so Margaery relaxed. "Really? Do tell," she replied with a grin.

He grinned back, sitting down next to her. "Well, when we were brand new recruits, there was this one time…"

/*/

Jon closed the door to the lift, feeling oddly alone without Ghost at his side. But he was glad his wolf had taken so well to Margaery; she could use an extra protector in his absence.

 _Margaery…_

She was…what was she? She was different, to say the least. She'd gone through more than most men would have to in their entire life, yet handled it with far more grace and inner strength. He'd never met anyone like her.

Unbidden, his mind wandered to Ygritte, and he couldn't help but compare the two women. They were both strong and capable, but where Ygritte was visibly hardened by her upbringing and circumstances, Margaery's tenacity seemed more internal. She was highborn; she had been taught how to conceal her innermost feelings. She had learned to put on a perfect mask, where Ygritte showed her feelings without restraint.

They were as different as night and day, and yet…and yet, he could feel the same kind of attraction towards each of them. Only the depth differed. He truly loved Ygritte, even to this day, and the way they parted broke his heart, but Margaery…

He didn't love her; he barely knew her…but there _was_ something that drew him to her. He knew he had to be careful around her. He felt like he was standing on the top of the Wall, and he could either safely descend in the lift, back to Castle Black, or jump the 700 feet over the other side. The choice was yet before him. Jon remembered the moment the Wildlings summited the Wall, seeing Ygritte's face as she looked out over the view for the first time, the way they kissed as the sun broke through the clouds…

Finally, the lift reached the top. He yanked himself from his train of thought as he pulled the door open with a loud whine, stepping outside into the chilly wind. It was still warmer than usual and he wondered if the Wall would weep today. To his surprise, Pyp was sitting on Ghost's other side with Margaery. "Shouldn't you be on guard duty, Pyp?" he asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Pyp scrambled up. "I'm sorry Lord Commander, I was only just -"

Jon held up a hand to stop him. "No need to apologize. Just remember your duties next time," he laughed.

"Yes, sir," Pyp said, appropriately abashed. He turned and quickly returned to his post, leaving Jon alone with Margaery and Ghost.

The Lord Commander turned to the Lady. "If you're ready, my lady, we can go back down. I'm sure you need your rest. And a good fire wouldn't hurt either, I imagine."

She smiled. "Ghost has been keeping me warm, but you're right; a fire would be nice." Jon smiled back, offering her his arm as they got onto the lift, Ghost following silently behind them, true to his name.

As soon as they returned to his quarters, Jon summoned Olly to get a fire going. Soon, he had one blazing in the fireplace. The wineskin and cups were still sitting on Jon's desk, undisturbed. "So, now you've seen where we live our lives," Jon said, pouring more wine for each of them and handing over her cup. "The men will be out to train soon; I hope they don't wake you."

Margaery drank deep. "I doubt they will. It's been...a tiring month."

Jon nodded in sympathetic understanding, taking a drink. "I'll understand if you don't want to stay in here all day. I imagine you'd get rather bored," he laughed. "You'd be welcome to watch a sparring practice, if you wish."

She smiled. "Thank you, Jon."

/*/

Once they had finished their wine, Jon left Margaery to rest while he went to train the men, and patted Ghost on the head as he passed him. Every day, he was more thankful for that albino direwolf he found as a pup. He donned his practice armour and sheathed his sword, jogging down the steps to the courtyard.

"Oi, Lord Commander," Hugh called loudly from a distance, "how's your new lady treating you? Keeping up with her alright?" Jon bristled, but said nothing. He refused to even look in the ranger's direction. "I imagine she can't take too much," he continued, ignoring the Lord Commander's obvious snub of his comment. "She looks like a frail little flower."

"That's enough," Jon snapped firmly. He was sure the ranger knew nothing about Margaery, but the oblique reference to the sigil of House Tyrell was still enough to worry him. "Bethany is a guest of the Watch, and she will be staying at Castle Black until she is strong enough to move on. You will _all_ treat her with the respect she is due. Is that clear?"

"Oh come on, my lord," another jeered. "You can't expect us to believe you have a pretty little thing like her in your chambers and you're not using her!"

"I'll take her if you won't," Hugh added, sniggering.

Most of the other men looked uncomfortable, Jon noted, but there were a few who were grinning. Did they really have no respect?

"You'll shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you," he said quietly, stepping forward and putting his hand on his sword menacingly. "No one touches Bethany. Is that understood?" he asked, raising his voice and looking around. A half-hearted assent came from most of the men. "Very good. Let's begin."

/*/

It started out as a regular day for Gilly. She'd done most of her chores and they'd gone by fairly fast, even with little Sam on her hip all day. She only had laundry left to do, after which she'd have to go to Mole's Town for Hobb to get supplies, she thought to herself as she made her way past the kitchens.

She was still adjusting to life at the Wall, which was very different from Craster's Keep. Most of the time, the men left her alone, but sometimes one or two of them got ideas, and they'd harass her. It was nothing serious as long as she had little Sam with her, but it was never pleasant. The men never liked a screaming baby, and rather left her alone when the child was unhappy. Apparently, sitting on his mother's hip was not all he wanted to do. At the moment, however, he was contentedly playing with the collar of her dress. She wished he was old enough to walk on his own, this basket was getting heavier…

And then it slipped.

Gilly cursed under her breath, trying to catch some of the black cloaks as they fell to the ground. Little Sam noticed her sudden change in attitude, and quickly started to cry.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a voice behind her sneered. She recognized the voice of Edvin, a ranger, and one of the men who most enjoyed tormenting her. He had been Rast's protégé when he arrived at the Wall, before the latter became a mutineer holed up in her previous home. Another man had stayed with him after the mutiny, but Gilly didn't know him by name.

"Leave me alone, Edvin," Gilly said, trying to make her voice as forceful as she could. Little Sam was still crying, clutching her tightly.

The man sneered. " _I_ should leave _you_ alone?" he scoffed, stepping gradually closer. "You're the one dropping our laundry in the mud. What, is this job not good enough for you? A filthy, little Wildling bitch gets beyond the Wall and gets delusions of grandeur."

He was almost nose to nose with her now, but Gilly was too scared to move, too terrified of what one flinch might mean to him. The man just smirked hungrily at her. Desperately, she looked around, but there was no one to help her. And who would anyway? While most of the men left her alone, they didn't really step up for her anyway. No one but Sam and Jon and their small circle of friends.

As Edvin took another step closer, Gilly flinched, and she immediately saw what a mistake that had been. Edvin grinned derisively, and she could see him get ready to do… something. She closed her eyes and hugged little Sam close.

"What's going on here?" a new voice called out.

Gilly's eyes shot open, and landed on a beautiful lady standing behind the man. She was certain she'd never seen her before, but there was only one person it could be: Bethany Flowers of The Reach. She'd heard the rumors about Jon and Sam's friends finding her in the Gift, but hadn't seen her before now.

"This ain't your business, girlie," Edvin snapped, glaring at the other woman. Despite the obvious threat, Bethany didn't seem afraid, and Gilly was impressed with her courage.

Suddenly, there was a quiet growl from behind the woman. The huge white wolf Jon had brought to the Keep stepped out from behind Bethany, snarling at Edvin. Gilly wondered if Ghost had just done her job for her; his muzzle looked bloody, as though from a fresh kill. Despite having seen the wolf around the keep several times, he still unnerved Gilly, and she inched back right along with the man in front of her. Bethany, however, seemed unfazed.

Ghost growled a little louder as Edvin stumbled back. "Care to take it up with him, then?" Bethany said, almost casually gesturing to the direwolf. As if on command, the wolf snapped at the man, who turned and fled in fear.

Gilly watched as Bethany stepped up to Ghost and reached out. "Thank you," she whispered, but her hand never touched him, as the direwolf let out a low growl and stalked off. Sighing, Bethany turned back around. "Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?" she asked kindly.

Gilly shook her head. "No, m'lady; you got here just in time," she said softly.

The other woman smiled kindly. "It's Bethany, please. I'm no lady."

Fighting the urge to curtsy, like she heard you were supposed to do before the highborn, Gilly smiled nervously. "I'm Gilly, mil- Bethany. And this is little Sam."

The lady - _Bethany_ \- then focussed on the still-fussy baby. "There now, little Ser, there's no need for tears, you've chased the bad man off and saves us poor maidens," she said, smiling softly at the babe. Little Sam - perhaps due to the kind tone, or the attention he was receiving - slowly stopped hiccoughing and stared, wide-eyed at Bethany.

Gilly grinned. "I think he likes you, he never quiets down so quickly."

Bethany positively beamed. "May I hold him?" she asked, surprising Gilly.

Not many would take such care with her child, and Gilly was grateful, especially since it would free up her hands to pick up the laundry again. "Of course. He can be a bit fussy, though," she warned, but Bethany didn't seem to be worried in the least. She reached for the baby, and Sam let her take him without complaint, immediately grabbing a tiny fistful of her hair and studying it with the intensity only a baby could manage.

"Hello, little one, does my hair fascinate you?" she asked, affection shining in her eyes.

Gilly bent down and picked up the cloaks. Thankfully, they'd been on their way to wash these, so the extra stains wouldn't matter much. Bethany continued cooing at little Sam, brushing back the little wisps of blond hair that were starting to grow on his head. It really did warm Gilly's heart, to see someone like Bethany being so gentle and considerate with her baby.

Grinning, Bethany looked up. "He's lovely. But I have to admit, I was surprised to see another woman here, let alone one with a child."

Though the other woman sounded genuinely curious and not accusatory or suspicious, Gilly's smile melted off her face. "I can't go back to where I was…"

Immediately, Bethany realized the misunderstanding. "No, no that's not what I meant at all," she said quickly, putting a friendly hand on Gilly's arm. Her other arm stayed wrapped tightly around little Sam. "I'm sorry if I upset you. Can I walk with you for a while?"

Gilly brightened a little. Perhaps it wasn't impossible to make a friend at Castle Black, after all.

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 **A/N: Don't forget to tell us what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here we are again!**

 **I've been meaning to open with this for the last several chapters - Anne and I are so excited that we have over 100 favorites and follows already! Thanks to everybody who's dropped in and read even a single chapter; we hope to keep bringing you much more of this story for a while yet. You make the writer's block and long nights of writing worth it.**

 **So this chapter, we get to start off with a little bit of what Sansa's up to, before we go back to the Wall. Don't worry, we'll have more coming from the South very soon. Stay tuned. ;) We hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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Even on calm waters, the rocking ship nearly made her sick. They had sailed away from King's Landing almost a week ago, and Sansa still didn't have her sea legs under her yet. She tried to keep her eyes on the horizon as one of the more sympathetic crewmen had told her, but her attention kept drifting. She kept thinking back to King's Landing, sitting with Tyrion at the wedding, watching Joffrey choke to death on air…

She could vaguely hear Petyr Baelish talking to the first mate on the aft deck. She wanted to hear what they were saying, but was afraid that moving might actually cause her to lose the few remaining contents of her stomach.

It was...strange, being in Lord Baelish's debt. He seemed to do this out of fondness for her late mother, but…Sansa had learned the hard way that no one ever did anything out of the kindness of their heart. Everyone had an ulterior motive; the problem was finding it and turning it to your advantage. But much as Sansa had learned to recognise the manipulations of court, she was not yet a master herself. And she knew she would need to be to survive in this world.

"It won't be long now, before we meet your aunt," Baelish said with a smile as he walked up to her, startling her from her reverie. "Just a few more days. A week at most."

"Are you sure going to my aunt is the right thing to do?" Sansa asked. "She is known for her…eccentricities…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"Where else would you go?" Lord Baelish asked. "The whole of Westeros will be searching for you, and you would not be safe when they got their hands on you. Trust that I'm looking out for your best interests, Sansa," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. The resulting proximity made her a little uncomfortable, but she wasn't entirely sure how to extricate herself without angering Baelish. And, at least for the moment, he was her only salvation.

"What about Jon?" she blurted. "He's at the Wall, no one would look for me there." _And it would make an excellent base for retaking Winterfell,_ she thought, but figured that showing her hand this early wouldn't be a good idea. Appearing as a naive, easily manipulated child would be a much more manageable position. Now just to make sure that she wasn't _actually_ manipulated…

Baelish blinked in surprise. "The bastard?" Then his eyes turned thoughtful, looking off into the distance. "I suppose now that he's Lord Commander of Castle Black, he would be able to hide you, should he so choose. And its proximity to Winterfell could prove advantageous," he mused. He turned his eyes back to her, his gaze sharp and calculated. "That was a very insightful choice, Sansa."

She shrugged and looked down at her boots. "I just want my family, and I don't know my Aunt Lysa at all. Jon's my brother, he'd take care of me."

"Then the choice is made. To the Wall we go," he said - a smile evident in his voice - before turning to go back up to the top deck. Sansa assumed he was going to tell the captain of their change in plans, and compensate him for his trouble. Nevertheless, she smiled to herself. If she couldn't go back to Winterfell just yet, this would have to suffice.

/*/

Jon hung up his practice armour on the rack for the day, rolling the tension out of his shoulders as he nodded curtly to Ser Alliser. The man glared daggers at him, like usual, but Jon decided to let it go. The other men were returning to their duties with no squabbles; there was no reason for him to start one, especially as Lord Commander with the First Ranger.

As he walked back to his quarters, he contemplated. The last he knew of the Wildlings...they should have arrived by now. Jon sighed. Mance was likely biding his time, playing mind games. He snorted to himself as he imagined Ygritte in Mance's tent, encouraging him to rattle Jon as much as possible before attacking.

He opened the door, and was more than slightly surprised by what he saw. Margaery was sitting in his quarters, drinking tea with the girl he and Sam had saved from Craster's Keep - Gilly, that was her name. Her baby was sitting at her feet, playing with the hem of her dress.

The women looked up at his entrance. "Good afternoon, Lord Commander," Margaery said, a smile teasing her lips. Gilly looked down, almost looking guilty at being in the Commander's private quarters.

Jon nodded and did his best to mask his surprise. "Ladies. I trust you had a good morning?"

"We did. Ghost saved us from a brute, but he didn't seem inclined to stick around afterwards. I rather suspect tea isn't his favourite," Margaery answered cheekily.

Even Gilly smiled at that, reaching down to keep little Sam from munching on Margaery's dress. Jon himself couldn't stop a grin. The wit of that woman. She was definitely one of a kind. "He's not always as much of a gentleman as he is around you, Miss Flowers. He must think you're special."

Margaery raised a single, delicate eyebrow, and the mirth in her eyes increased tenfold. "Really? I'm flattered."

"And I must be off," Gilly said timidly as she gathered her son in her arms. "I still have chores left to finish."

Margaery stood up, a kind smile on her face. "I meant what I said, if you ever need someone to look after little Sam, I'd be delighted."

Gilly smiled gratefully, nodded respectfully at Jon, and then made her way outside. Jon felt for the girl; he knew life couldn't be easy for her here, but there wasn't a lot he could do to shelter her. "You have a fondness for little children then, my lady?" he asked, sitting behind his desk.

"I always have," Margaery smiled. Jon thought he saw her face fall as she spoke again. "When I was in King's Landing, I visited at least one orphanage a week. More in the Reach, when I lived there." Her smile somewhat returned. "The honesty of children is so...refreshing. Especially after being wrapped up in politics for so long."

A chuckle escaped the Lord Commander. "I'm sure you've heard the adage about the mouths of babes," he smiled.

Margaery let her hand rest on the mantle over his fireplace. "Did you spend much time with your siblings when you were younger, Lord Commander?"

He snorted, which only served to make Margaery's smile grow. "All the time. Robb's close to my age, so we got into a lot of trouble together as boys. I've told you about Sansa, always wanting to be a proper lady. When Bran still had the use of his legs, he always enjoyed sports and adventures. Rickon was usually trailing after him."

"As I recall, you have another sister, do you not?" she asked. She knew Sansa hadn't gotten along with her little sister very well, so she was curious to know what Jon's opinion of her would be.

"Arya," Jon replied with an affectionate grin. "She's a spitfire, that one. You're more likely to see her stealing one of the practice swords and trying it out on her brothers than see her in a dress." He turned thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I think she burned one, once."

That surprised a chuckle out of her. "She _burned_ her dress?"

He paused again. "Actually, it might have been Sansa's. Arya lived to torment her," he said, affection clear in his voice. But slowly, his smile fell away. "At least, she _did_ live for it. No one's seen her since the day my father was executed."

Silently, Margaery put a hand on his arm, offering her support. "I can't even imagine all that you've lost," she whispered almost inaudibly.

Jon offered a sad smile, putting his hand over hers in a silent gesture of thanks. He was surprised by the softness of her skin, even after all she'd been through. But their quiet was shattered when there were two loud horn blasts from atop the Wall. Jon shot out of his chair, listening closely.

"Jon?" she asked anxiously. "What is it?"

"Two blasts," he replied, not facing her. "Wildlings." He grabbed a spare cloak from his chair, sweeping it over his shoulders. "Stay in here," he ordered. "Lock the door; don't let anyone in. I'll unlock it when I return."

"Yes, sir," Margaery answered; she curtsied out of habit from hearing that authoritative note in his voice. "Good luck."

He offered a smile. "Thank you, Margaery." Nodding once more at the lady, he made his way out of his quarters and to the courtyard. Alliser Thorne was already waiting for him, glaring. Since Jon couldn't think of anything specific he'd done to anger the man, he reckoned Thorne was just in a bad mood, as always. The Lord Commander curtly brushed past him to see what was going on. Two breathless rangers were standing in front of them; they'd clearly run all the way from their posts on the top of the Wall to make it down the stairs.

"Catch your breath, men," Jon said calmly. "What's out there?"

"Wildings, sir," one of the men said.

Jon narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in thought. This couldn't be good. "Where, exactly?"

The two men glanced at each other. "Just behind the tree line, sir," the other man said, his gaze going back to the Lord Commander. "We could see their torches right before the forest thickens up."

Sighing, Jon ran a hand over his face. "It isn't good, to be certain. But it's just a threat."

" _Just_ a threat?" Ser Alliser spat. "They're practically at our gate!"

"How much time have you spent undercover in a Wildling encampment, Ser Alliser?" Jon snapped. "Please, let me know when you've memorized all of Mance Rayder's strategies." He took another deep breath. "They're playing with my mind, I know it…" he muttered, almost to himself.

"And what part of your time in the Wildling encampment tells you that, Lord Commander?" Ser Alliser snapped back.

"All of it!" he barked back. He paused to gather his thoughts. "I told the Wildlings we had over a thousand men at Castle Black alone." He continued, despite the barely-contained fury on the First Ranger's face. "Mance has all he needs to crush us - he just doesn't know it yet. If he finds out I lied, he'll throw his full strength at us - and even if every one of us kills a hundred Wildlings, there's still not a thing we can do to stop them!"

Silence fell over the courtyard as Thorne and Jon stared each other down, though the latter could clearly see his adversary was considering his words.

From behind them, Pyp spoke in a small voice. "I don't think I _can_ kill a hundred Wildlings."

/*/

Margaery waited anxiously in Jon's chambers for him to return. She didn't know much about the Wildlings, apart from the horror stories she'd heard growing up. But the worry on her host's face had been enough to jump-start her own anxious thoughts. What if they _did_ attack the Wall? What would they do with her if they found her? Probably the same thing as they'd do with any other woman they found...which couldn't be anything good.

She was shaken from her thoughts when a knock came to the door. "Bethany? It's Gilly."

The other woman sounded nervous, and Margaery could hear little Sam crying softly. Jon had said not to let anyone in, but surely that didn't mean her friend? She quickly unlocked the door and let them in. Gilly did indeed look worried, clutching her son close as she was.

Margaery promptly re-locked the door and sat down next to her friend. "Are you alright?"

Gilly nodded. "I just…I didn't want to sit in my room by myself…I hope you don't mind?"

"No, of course it's alright," she said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We'll be safe in here until the Lord Commander gets back."

Little Sam was starting to fuss louder on Gilly's lap, and the young mother groaned. "Oh, stop crying, please…" she muttered to him, patting his back as he started crying into her shoulder. "Shh, shh…"

"May I?" Margaery asked, gesturing to the squirming baby.

Gilly nodded. "Maybe he'll calm down if you hold him," she said softly; Margaery detected a note of exhaustion and almost resignation in her voice. Margaery took the baby, who was now almost screaming, and started to pace the floor, singing softly:

 _The Father's face is stern and strong,  
_ _he sits and judges right from wrong.  
He weighs our lives, the short and long,  
and loves the little children._

Gilly raised her head attentively after the first stanza, but Margaery's eyes were closed as she continued singing. Her voice was not the prettiest, but she carried the tune well. Already, little Sam's cries had less heart to them.

 _The Mother gives the gift of life,  
and watches over every wife.  
Her gentle smile ends all strife,  
and she loves her little children._

 _The Warrior stands before the foe,  
_ _protecting us where e'er we go.  
_ _With sword and shield and spear and bow,  
_ _he guards the little children._

Gradually, he was starting to settle down. Margaery adjusted her grip on him and continued.

 _The Crone is very wise and old,  
_ _and sees our fates as they unfold.  
_ _She lifts her lamp of shining gold  
_ _to lead the little children._

 _The Smith, he labors day and night,  
_ _to put the world of men to right.  
_ _With hammer, plow, and fire bright,  
_ _he builds for little children._

 _The Maiden dances through the sky,  
_ _she lives in every lover's sigh.  
_ _Her smiles teach the birds to fly,  
_ _and gives dreams to little children._

As the baby finally drifted off, Margaery finished her song.

 _The Seven Gods who made us all,  
_ _are listening if we should call.  
_ _So close your eyes, you shall not fall,  
_ _they see you, little children._

 _Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,  
_ _they see you, little children._

She kissed his head as she sat back down next to Gilly, handing over the baby, who only half-heartedly waved his tiny fists as his mother took him back. "That song…" she said softly. "Sam sang that to me when we were on our way to the Wall."

Margaery's smile grew. "My father sang it to me and my brother all the time when we were little." She sighed softly as she felt a pang of homesickness. She missed Highgarden so much...she missed her family more than anything.

At that moment, she heard the bolt turn in the door and it slowly creaked open, pulling her from her memories of home. The Lord Commander looked even more tired than when he'd left before, sighing heavily as he closed the door again. "Hello, Gilly," he nodded to the young mother. "I didn't realize you'd be here."

Gilly's cheeks instantly heated up, and she looked down. Margaery frowned. "That was uncalled for, I invited her in here," she said forcefully.

"And what did I tell you just before I left the room?" Jon asked testily.

Margaery stood up and raised herself to her full height, despite the lingering pins and needles in her feet. "As long as I'm staying here, I reserve the right to invite whomever I please. Gilly is my friend, and she is welcome wherever I am currently staying!" she snapped.

"You don't make the rules here, Bethany!" the Lord Commander barked back at her. She was too shocked to answer; she'd never heard him so angry before. After the awkward pause, he took a deep breath and sighed. "You're right. As long as this is your home, you can invite anyone you please." He sat behind his desk and turned back to Gilly. "I apologise. There are Wildlings approaching the gate, I'm a little…concerned."

Gilly smiled shyly. "It's alright. Sir. I need to put Sam to bed," she said, standing. Margaery put a friendly hand on her shoulder in goodbye as she left, shutting the heavy door behind her.

"I'm sorry for that outburst, my lady," he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't take my frustrations out on either of you. It's...not befitting of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

Margaery waved dismissively. "At least you apologised. My father doesn't handle stress very well either, but he's not very good at admitting when he's wrong." She sighed. "Loras is boneheaded that way too, sometimes."

A small smile came across Jon's face. He looked amused by her assessment of her brother. "I'm sure you miss them very much."

"I do miss them," she said heavily. A melancholy look came over her face. "I miss home. The smell of the gardens, the ever-present breeze on the hot days that makes sure you're always perfectly cooled off…" She was tired from the long day, and perhaps that was the reason she was feeling so nostalgic, but she really did miss it.

"Makes the cold seem even more harsh here, doesn't it?" Jon said.

Margaery turned to face him, and offered a small smile. "The North does have its own charms. I've never seen such vast forests, and there's an untamed wildness that feels ancient. It's like no other place in the world."

Jon's smile grew into a wider, slightly crooked grin, and Margaery decided that she particularly liked that look. "That's a very nice way of saying it's rough up here," he teased lightly.

His playfulness surprised a laugh out of her. "I suppose there is a roughness about it, yes. But it's a different sort of roughness, if you will." She sat down. "It's the kind that makes you feel secure, even though there's so much out there." A brief look crossed her face that he couldn't quite decipher, before she moved on. "Have you ever been to the South, Lord Commander?"

He shook his head a little sadly. "I've never been south of Winterfell, actually."

"Perhaps one day, you will."

Smiling softly, he nodded. "Yes. Perhaps I will."

* * *

 **A/N: Be sure to tell us what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So it feels (to me) like it's been forever since we last updated, but maybe that's because I just moved states! I'm settling in nicely before grad school starts!**

 **Anyway, enough about me - here's your next chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

"I don't understand, Grandmother," Loras said testily. It had been almost a month since his sister's disappearance, and about three weeks since their whole retinue had arrived back at Highgarden. He had been interrogating his grandmother about the incident, to no avail. Now, his patience was wearing thin. "Why won't you tell me what happened to Margaery?"

"Because it's simply not your business," the Queen of Thorns replied candidly. "Why don't you go wave that sword of yours and teach our knights how to fight. No doubt we'll be drawn back into this ridiculous war before we know it. Our alliance with the Lannisters remains every bit as necessary for them as it is unpleasant for us."

"Then why did we leave the city so soon after Joffrey's death?" Loras snapped back. The Knight of Flowers sighed in frustration when his grandmother didn't answer. "At least tell me how you even knew to smuggle her out of the city. And don't deny it, no one but you could have orchestrated that. Nothing about that wedding day went the way it was supposed to."

Lady Olenna's face hardened. "Listen to me, Loras. You may not have enjoyed watching that day, but you enjoyed it far more than you would have enjoyed seeing your sister married to that beast, I can promise you that."

Loras could only scowl. She was right about that; he had always hated that petulant little brat. But even so, for him to die horribly, and for Margaery to mysteriously disappear in the same day… something was going on. Something his grandmother knew about. He strapped on his sword belt and marched off to the practice yard. He was going to get to the bottom of his sister's disappearance, no matter what it took.

/*/

It had been only a few days since the Wildling spotting, and Castle Black was an overactive hive of preparation. Everywhere Margaery looked, men in black cloaks were sprinting around - some carrying messages to the Maester's tower, others from the rookery to the Lord Commander's quarters. She tried to stay as out-of-the-way as she could, but that seemed to be increasingly more difficult. She'd just gone down to the library to borrow a book, and had managed to find one about the Age of Heroes. She knew the stories by heart, of course, but it would still be an entertaining read.

Margaery sighed to herself as her stomach growled for the third time in an hour. She needed to get something to eat. Perhaps Gilly would be in the kitchens, she thought to herself as she walked out the door. The two women had become fast friends, and if it was a heavy errand day, she knew Little Sam could be a handful for the overworked mother.

As she turned a corner, she bumped shoulders rather abruptly with a black brother turning the corner. "Oh, goodness! My apologies, Ser," she quickly curtsied. She recognized him as Locke, one of the few men who had survived the mission to Craster's Keep with Jon just after she had been brought to the Wall.

The ranger almost smirked, the facial expression highlighting the nasty scar along his left eye. "Nothing to forgive, Miss…?"

"Flowers."

Margaery thought she saw a flash in his dark, beady eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Flowers," he repeated, still smirking. "You have nothing to worry about, my lady. It's our job to keep you safe."

She forced a smile. "Thank you," she said, curtseying before she hurried on her way. Something about that man just gave her the nastiest feeling…

"Bethany!" Gilly's voice jerked her out of her unpleasant thoughts. Smiling, she hurried over to her friend. "How are you? Is the Lord Commander…?"

Margaery shook her head. "All is forgiven; you have nothing to worry about." She glanced down when she felt a tug on the hem of her dress. "Hello, little Sam, Auntie Bethany is here," she smiled, picking him up and putting him over her shoulder.

"Actually, if you wouldn't mind watching him…" Gilly started, trailing off.

Keeping a tight hold on the baby, Margaery put a hand on her friend's arm. "What is it? You can ask."

She smiled a little. "I just have some errands to run in Mole's Town; I shouldn't be long. And I'm sure you're wanting something else to wear," she noted.

Margaery sighed. Since her arrival, it had been men's clothing and makeshift dresses that Gilly had fashioned out of old uniform scraps and lined with old cloaks. They were well-made; the girl had skill. But the weather would soon be too cold for them to suffice; she would need a thicker garment. "A proper dress would be lovely, if you find one. But don't go out of your way for me." Though Margaery had to admit that the trousers and heavy cloaks were easier to move around in than her complicated southern dresses. "Some sturdier trousers would also be welcome," she said.

Gilly smiled, and turned her gaze to her baby boy. "Be good, now. I'll be back soon." She gave him a kiss, and looked at him longingly for another moment, before turning back to Margaery.

Margaery reached into the small pouch she kept on her at all times and produced a copper. Gilly looked at her uncomprehendingly. "It's for the clothes, should you find any. It's only fair I pay for it myself." Gilly blushed, but took the coin, gave Sam one last kiss and headed out.

It must have been so hard for Gilly to leave her baby, even with someone she considered a friend. But Margaery just smiled and vowed that little Sam would have the best possible time while in her care. "So, little Ser, what shall we do?" she asked the babe cheerfully. "Perhaps we should get something to eat?" she suggested rhetorically as her stomach made its intentions known again.

But for all the Lady's love of children, she'd never actually handled one before. It was always visits to the orphanage, and a few kind words before they were back in the hands of their regular caretakers. And even her various distant cousins had always been handled either by their mother or a maid - more often the latter. Nevertheless, she set the babe on her hip and walked towards the kitchen. "Hello, Hobb," she called with a smile.

The cook grunted a greeting absentmindedly, so Margaery helped herself. It was a bit challenging to balance the child and the bowl of broth - sometimes she wondered how Gilly did it - but she dished up some leftover venison stew for the both of them. Even if Little Sam couldn't chew the meat, the broth was at least something to hold him over until his mother returned from Mole's Town.

"Here we are," she said gently, sitting them down in a corner by the door. She settled Sam on her lap and tried to feed him a spoonful of broth. Of course, the babe though it much more amusing to swat the spoon away. Margaery tried a few more times - getting broth all over herself - before she gave up and simply tried to feed herself as best she could with the child still on her lap. He seemed to be more fascinated by her hair now, though.

Gods, her hair. She hadn't properly washed it with oils since the day she left King's Landing. Even with the washing it got while she was recovering, she was sure it must look a fright. It was one of her more girlish impulses, but she couldn't help it. Ever since waking up at Castle Black, she'd simply left it down, but perhaps Jon could give her a small leather string, so she could at least braid it?

A sharp pull at her hair brought her back to the present. It seemed little Sam would no longer be amused simply by looking and gently touching her hair. She needed another distraction. She remembered the book she'd borrowed from Maester Aemon's library and pulled it out of the large pockets her dress had - thank the Gods for Gilly's practicality in sewing dresses. She turned sideways on the bench and put little Sam between her legs, so he wouldn't fall off, even if she wasn't holding him. Opening the book to the first page, she began to read…

Thankfully, there were only a few Brothers in the mess hall with them. They largely ignored her, as they usually did with Gilly and Sam. But as Margaery softly read the story of Ser Duncan the Tall, and his squire Aegon, she noticed a few heads turning her way, and some of their conversations gradually quieting. She dared to glance up above the book, but the looks in her direction were far from malicious - some were curious, others even seemed to be reminiscing as they heard her reading. Privately, she was a little amused. Here were these tough criminals, defenders of the Wall, who seemed to be enjoying a tale all about heroes.

She directed her attention back to the book and the child in front of her, and did her best not to let that amusement show. She was just getting to the part where Ser Eustace got 'Dunk and Egg' involved in a dangerous conflict with Lady Rohanne Webber when someone sat down in front of her.

"You're telling it wrong," the one they called 'Dolorous Edd' insisted. She recognized him as a friend of the Lord Commander's.

This time, Margaery had no issue letting her amusement break through. "I'm just reading it from the book," she said, smiling a little.

"Well, yeah, but you've got to play up the drama. Like saying it was at midnight with the full moon shinin' down on 'em," he insisted.

Margaery held back a very unladylike snort. "That's not how the Maesters recorded it," she argued, though she wholeheartedly agreed. The book _was_ rather dry. "But I suppose I could put in some effort." She cleared her throat and started reading the passage again.

As little Sam seemed completely taken with the story - though if he understood a word of it, no one could tell - Margaery found herself being lost in the tale herself. But when she ended the chapter, the room was a lot fuller and most of the men were suddenly pretending they hadn't been listening in.

After allowing herself one tiny smile, she did her best to ignore her amusement at the situation and looked at little Sam. The poor boy had tired himself out and was asleep, even as he leaned against her chest. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to continue the story tomorrow," she said, loud enough for most of the men to hear. Some audibly complained as she slid the book into her pocket and gathered the babe up in her arms.

But as she left the mess hall, her path was blocked by one Lord Commander Snow standing in the doorway. He looked especially handsome leaning as he was against the doorframe, a tiny smile playing around his lips. Good Gods. The man didn't smile often, but when he did… "Enjoy the story?" she asked, mostly to distract herself from thoughts she really shouldn't be having.

"I did. It was one of my brother's favourites growing up," he said, stepping out of her way.

"Not your own?" she asked as she started towards Gilly's room, knowing she should really put little Sam down for a proper nap, now that he was asleep.

"No, I preferred imagining myself as Aemon Targaryen, the dragonknight," he replied, falling into step with her.

Margaery frowned. "He defended a mad King who had a man killed for sleeping with his discarded mistress. Did he not fight one of your ancestors?" she asked.

"Aye, Cregan Stark," he said, and she thought she detected some amusement in his voice. "The man he defended might have been mad and cruel, but he was a sworn member of the Kingsguard, and the best swordsman of his age. And as a boy...especially as a bastard with nothing...it was easier to overlook his flaws," he explained, his face growing serious once more.

"I suppose I can grant you that," she said, unable to keep a small smile off her own face.

"Much as I enjoyed your retelling of the story of Ser Duncan and Aegon, I did have a purpose in seeking you out," he said.

 _That's not foreboding at all,_ she thought to herself. "Oh?"

"I've found a proper room for you and Gilly to share, if you're both willing. There's safety in numbers, after all," he explained. "And it's deeper in the castle, so it shouldn't be too cold, if you heap enough furs. Sam is installing a bolt on the door as we speak."

Margaery would be lying if she said she didn't feel a small twinge of regret. She liked sharing quarters with Jon, drinking a cup of wine - though a far cry from the Arbor Gold she was used to - and laughing and talking about every topic under the sun. She could be herself with him, which was a rare thing anywhere in Westeros, let alone hiding as she was at the Wall. It occurred to her that he was the first man she actually liked as a person, as opposed to liking what he could get her. She never had to seduce him - though she wasn't sure if his rigid sense of honour would have allowed it - but she simply never had to. She'd found an actual honest and kind man, and she'd found him at the Wall of all places.

So yes, Margaery was perhaps a tad dejected that she would no longer be able to spend so much time with him. "Oh. When will we be moving in?"

"Tomorrow morning." Was that her imagination, or did she see some reluctance in his eyes? Perhaps he valued her company as much as she did his.

"Then I suppose I should go pack up what I have. Sleep well, little Sam," she whispered as she put the baby down in his makeshift crib.

/*/

Jon held the missive in his hand for a few more moments. It would be sent to Brightwater Keep soon enough, but for now he could still second guess himself.

Part of the letter was a commision that he hoped would make for a nice surprise, but the other part…it was risky. Incredibly risky. It was the reason the letter was going to Brightwater, with instructions to deliver it directly into the hands of Lady Olenna Tyrell, and no one else at Highgarden - not even Lord Mace or Ser Loras. She deserved to know that 'Bethany Flowers' had gotten to safety, despite taking a small...detour. Jon smirked to himself. _That's certainly one way of putting it._

He walked across the tower to Maester Aemon's rookery. He had to be the one to tie this note to a raven's leg and send it off. He opened the cage, and one immediately came out onto his hand, a leg stuck out. Jon chuckled at it. "Smart one, are you?" he murmured kindly as he tied the parchment on. "Fly south now, brave one. Brightwater Keep," he murmured, before sending it off into the air.

Jon found his heart falling into his stomach as he watched the black wings flying away. _Gods be good. Get there safely._

* * *

 **A/N: Let us know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hi loves! Here we are again, right on schedule. Grad school is off to an interesting start, for sure, and I can't guarantee that I'll always have time. But when I can, I'll ask Anne-Lilian to pop in and update for me. Anyway, here's your next chapter!**

* * *

Margaery found Gilly right after she'd put Sam down to sleep and told her about the new room. Gilly confessed that Sam - the Night's Watchman, not the baby - had already shown it to her, and that she was glad not to be alone anymore. The girl had grown up always surrounded by her sisters, and felt alone in the keep sometimes. Margaery wanted to sympathise, but as much as she liked Gilly, she predicted she'd feel more alone once she moved out of the Lord Commander's quarters.

"Oh, and I found you a better dress," Gilly added. "I hope the size is right."

Margaery looked up as Gilly unfolded it. It was a thick, dark grey fabric, with small stitches of dark blue in hexagons throughout - probably a luxury here in the north. She could see the lighter grey fur lining coming out of the collar, long sleeves, and skirt. It was a very functional dress, and the spoiled lady in Margaery pouted just a little. "Gilly, it's perfect, thank you," she said, letting nothing of her true feelings shine through as she took the dress in her arms. It was rather pretty, and she had to remind herself that it wasn't Gilly's fault that there was no proper fashion this far north. And the dress would keep her warmer in this blasted cold.

Gilly smiled, clearly happy with her find. "That should keep you warmer than some of the ones I made; the seamstresses in Mole's Town are really very good," she said.

For the first time in a while, Margaery truly smiled. "Thank you, Gilly. For everything."

Gilly blushed. "It's nothing. Thank _you_ for watching little Sam all afternoon, I know he can be a handful…"

"He was a dear, I loved it. I just put him down to sleep," Margaery replied. "Now, it seems I have some packing to do, so I'll retire for the night. Sleep well, Gilly."

"Course. You too, Bethany."

It wasn't very late yet, but when Margaery arrived back at the Lord Commander's quarters, she was exhausted. She'd gather her meagre belongings in the morning, at the moment, she needed to get some sleep. The moment she rested her head on her pillow, she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

/*/

 _Gods be good, how do they live in this abominable cold?_ It was the middle of the night, and Margaery was unable to sleep from shaking. She had stoked up the fire, and was currently sitting in front of it, still trembling like a leaf. It was a wonder the sound of her bones rattling together hadn't woken the whole Watch yet, despite the heavy fur around her shoulders. Jon had warned her before that the nights would be cold with all the summer snows coming in, but on this particular night, it was even colder than she'd come to expect.

"Margaery," she heard softly behind her.

She jumped, and swiftly turned around. "J-Jon," she whispered through her clattering teeth. She hadn't expected him to actually wake up; he seemed to be a heavy sleeper. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

He ignored her question and stepped closer. "Are you cold?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Pushing aside the small stab of irritation she felt at the question, she nodded. "The Reach doesn't normally get this…chilly," she said with a shrug.

"Of course," he said. "Here, let me…" he trailed off, and stepped closer. Margaery frowned at him. What was he doing? And then he sat down and scooted forward until she was between his legs, her back resting against his chest. She tensed up, and was fairly certain she was blushing. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she folded her arms across her chest, but even that felt slightly awkward.

Suddenly, Jon seemed to realize exactly what position they were in. "I'm sorry, my lady," he said, sounding slightly flustered. "I didn't mean to be so forward, this is just…" he trailed off, obviously at a loss for what to say.

His floundering, more than anything, put her at ease. This wasn't a man wanting to take advantage of her. In his eyes, this was probably just a practical solution; after all, her back was no longer cold now. Quite the opposite, really. She found herself comfortably warm as she gradually relaxed into the Lord Commander's chest.

Her eyes started to droop, almost against her will, but this was... so… com...for...tab...le…

/*/

When Jon's eyes opened the next morning, he knew something was different. As he slowly regained consciousness, he realized he was lying flat on his back, on the floor of his chambers. But that wasn't the half of it.

His eyes opened, and there she was - Margaery, of House Tyrell, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and widow of His Grace King Joffrey, curled up on his chest like a kitten.

Panic overtook him. Olly would be coming in soon to bring him breakfast and morning reports, and this was _not_ something the rest of the Watch needed to hear about secondhand. Or at all. _Ever._

He shifted slightly, trying to see if he could move without waking her. She sighed quietly, clearly still asleep, and nuzzled a little deeper into his chest. Gods be good, she was so beautiful, but this was the last thing he needed. He'd already broken his vows once…he didn't need any more temptation to do it again. "Margaery," he whispered.

"Mmm…" her hand slid from his chest up to his neck, underneath his furs, as her breathing deepened. He shivered, steeling himself and employing all his willpower. _Don't get distracted now._

He brought a hand up to her back. "Margaery," he repeated, a little louder. He hated to wake her when she needed all the rest she could get, but he _really_ didn't need his steward catching him on the floor with the girl currently sharing his chambers.

She frowned in her sleep, sighing, as her hand made a fist around the hair on his neck, her nails scraping over his skin. Once again, he had to keep his body from reacting to her ministrations, even if they were being done unconsciously.

"Margaery, wake up!" he hissed, shaking her shoulder a little more aggressively.

Finally, with a deep inhale, her eyes cracked open, and she squinted at him. "Jon? What is it?" she mumbled, her voice still heavy with sleep. Gods, her lips were so close. He wondered if she could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

"We need to get up," Jon replied, as calmly as he could.

For a moment, Margaery just stared at him with uncomprehending eyes. Then, he saw the realization dawn on her face as her eyes widened. "Seven hells!" she swore under her breath, rolling off his chest and onto the floor.

Jon scrambled up, blushing madly. He was glad for the heavy clothes he wore, or his body's reaction would have been clearly visible. Even so, he almost felt a need to turn his back. The awkwardness in the air was almost palpable as Margaery popped to her feet, brushing some stray hair from her face in an effort to compose herself.

"I…" Margaery said. She was breathing a little quickly - which didn't help Jon's eyes stay on hers - and her eyes were wide. "I apologise."

"You have nothing to apologise for, my lady," he responded quickly, in the most diplomatic tone he could muster.

"Right. I should…" she cleared her throat. "Good morning, Lord Commander," she said, turning on her heel and walking out.

Jon stood in place, frozen and speechless. What in seven hells had just happened? He barely even noticed when Olly opened the door, carrying an armful of scrolls. "Good morning, Lord Commander," he said, setting them down on Jon's desk, which finally got him to move. Maybe one of them was a response from Brightwater Keep.

"Thank you, Olly."

/*/

"But you said we were going to the Wall!" Sansa protested angrily as the Bloody Gate appeared before them. "What are we doing here? Last I heard, my brother was at Castle Black."

Lord Baelish raised his arms to calm her, in vain. "Sansa, listen to - "

"No!" she snapped. "I made the choice, remember? You said the decision was made!"

"Sansa, listen to me," he finally said, putting his hands on her shoulders again. As much as she hated the contact, she tried not to flinch away. "You're the last child of Ned and Catelyn Stark. We can't risk going to the North now, where the men who killed your family are in Winterfell. They're all over the roads."

Despite her lingering fury at being deceived, Sansa paused to consider his words. It was true, the Boltons had to be all over the roads around her home. But she knew the North. With a sufficient disguise and enough supplies, she could get to the Wall herself if she wanted. She'd have to find her own way to her brother.

Her conflict must have shown on her face, because soon, Littlefinger spoke again. "Don't worry, Sansa. This is the safest place to be at a time like this; the Eyrie is impregnable."

She sighed. "You're probably right," she forced herself to say. Littlefinger was up to something, so Sansa would play along for the moment, but she vowed to herself that she'd find a way to bring her family together again. _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,_ she reminded herself as she watched Littlefinger walk away. _I have to make sure it happens._

/*/

Focussing on paperwork proved impossible. Jon sighed, resting his head in his hands as he leaned back in his chair. All he could think about was what had happened with Margaery. Waking up beside her - well, underneath her, truthfully - had been…had been what? He would never quite forget the panic he felt when he realized their exact situation, he knew, but even in the midst of the panic…what had he felt? What was it, that feeling when he felt her weight, her warmth, curled up so vulnerably on top of his chest?

He didn't…no, he couldn't. He couldn't possibly. He tried to deny it, but it was no use.

He… _wanted_ her.

It was a strange thing, this situation where the Lord Commander found himself. This woman had come to him quite by accident, a queen on the run, who was now under his protection. Being the man he was, Jon had reached out to her. Little did he know how Margaery would reciprocate in kind.

 _It's a good thing she's moving into new chambers with Gilly today,_ he thought to himself. _I don't know if I could stand to have her so close after…_

His thoughts were interrupted when the lady herself entered the room. "Lord Commander," she said softly.

He inclined his head respectfully. "My lady." He had to ignore the great lump in his throat.

"I've, ah…I've just come to fetch the last of my things," she said a little awkwardly, as she picked up the last few items that were scattered onto the cot she'd been using.

Jon nodded. "Are the quarters with Gilly to your satisfaction?"

Thankfully, she smiled. "Very much."

As much as he hated the situation, he made himself smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm not sure how much longer we can keep you at the Wall…but for now, at least, this is something I can do."

Margaery smiled. "I'm grateful, sir." She curtsied once again and left, and Jon suddenly felt more alone than he had in a long time.

 _Oh gods, Jon. Pull yourself together,_ he snapped in his own mind. _Don't pine after a woman you can't have._

But no matter how many excuses and explanations Jon ran through in his own mind, the Rose of Highgarden wouldn't leave his mind. He smiled, in spite of himself. Perhaps they would both just have to wait and see.

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 **A/N: ...which is what you guys now have to do for two weeks! :D Please be sure to let us know what you think!**

 **Also huge thanks to Freedom909 for the amazing coverart! Let us know if you like it!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So this is me, sliding this update in right under the door in great haste and at the last minute, because grad school has completely taken over my life. As such, Anne and I wrote the bulk of this chapter today, so we hope it doesn't feel too rushed. Please be sure to let us know what you think!**

 **Also, for clarity's sake - in our story, Imry Florent escaped the Blackwater alive, but injured. So he decided to take up the lordship of the Keep. Enjoy the chapter!**

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"Pardon, my lord," the maester called. "A raven, from Castle Black."

 _The Night's Watch?_ Lord Imry Florent asked himself. _What would they want with us?_

He limped over to accept the raven from his maester. "Thank you, Maester Omer." Since the Battle of the Blackwater, he had decided to go back home to recover from his injuries, and subsequently took up the lordship of Brightwater Keep, after his brother Axell was burned by that Red Woman his sister Selyse and brother-in-law Stannis Baratheon kept so close. He brushed off the memories. _He was an offering to the Lord. All is well._

Curiously, he hobbled back over to his chair - his damn leg still hadn't healed properly since the Blackwater - and opened the seal of the black crow. He had to read the missive three times to be sure he was reading it properly, but when he was certain of the words he read, he leapt up, the pain in his leg now suddenly gone as he rolled it up tightly. "My horse, at once!"

/*/

After Margaery had left his quarters, Jon found himself making more frequent trips back and forth between the training yard and the slightly emptier room. The Lord Commander didn't know what had gotten into him lately when it came to that woman…after Ygritte, he never thought he would be able to look at another woman again, especially not with that same intensity. But there was something about Margaery that kept pulling him back, no matter how much he resisted.

As he was walking back to the training yard, he noticed that there was significantly less activity than the last time he'd come out of his chambers. There were the usual men at their posts, but no one had stopped to talk, or was just walking across the courtyard. Jon frowned, but then had a sneaking suspicion as to where all his men had vanished to. Making a slight detour, he made his way over to the mess hall and found more than a few men actively trying to pretend they weren't listening to Margaery reading to Little Sam. A few - namely Pyp, Grenn and a reluctant Edd - weren't even pretending not to be listening in avidly.

Jon allowed himself a fond smile. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but Margaery managed to attract anyone to her side. These days, even when she was walking alone, it was a rare occasion when someone made a derogatory comment. Of course, that didn't mean that Jon didn't still hear them occasionally, but at least the men had learned that Margaery wasn't someone they could harass without consequence. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself to be lost in the stories of Dunk and Egg again, listening to her voice as she cooed to Little Sam...

Gods, he needed a distraction. He turned to go back towards the training yard, and was not surprised to find that Ghost had joined him, even if he hadn't heard the direwolf approach. A chuckle escaped him as he reached down to pet the direwolf. "Still keeping an eye on our guest, are you, boy?" The white beast nosed up against him for a moment, before silently padding off into the mess hall, laying down at Margaery's feet.

She paused in her reading to greet the wolf, turning back to see Jon. He noticed that his heart skipped a little more this time when their eyes met - harder than it ever had before.

Yes, a distraction was exactly what he needed. He resolutely stalked off to find some dummies he could cut to pieces.

/*/

The best thing about the Vale, in Sansa's opinion, was the fact that it had an actual Godswood. Though she'd stopped praying to the Old Gods a long time ago, the mere presence of one of the heart trees was enough to calm her. They reminded her of home, of sitting on her father's lap as a little girl and listening to him explain what it meant to believe in the Gods.

Back in King's Landing, almost no one would bother her when she pretended to be praying. Here in the Vale, people respected her wish for solitude for the most part - after all, she was no one of consequence here - and the godswood provided the only bit of companionship she had, even if it came from the Gods who had abandoned her and her family. At least they didn't try to manipulate her like Lord Baelish did, or make her irrationally angry as Robin Arryn's childish ways often did. And her aunt… well, it was clear her aunt wanted her far, far away from here.

As she gazed up at the carved face in the heart tree, an idea sparked in her mind. Her aunt Lysa didn't want her here, and neither did Sansa want to stay… what if they could both have what they wanted? All she would have to do would be to ask her Aunt Lysa…

Soon, there were approaching footsteps. "Pardon, my lady. Your aunt wishes to see you."

That was convenient, Sansa thought. "Did she mention the reason?" Sansa asked, even as she stood to follow the messenger.

"I believe she wanted to dine with you, my lady," the man replied.

Perfect. All Sansa would have to do was lead the conversation in such a way that her aunt's jealous nature would incline her to send Sansa away. "Thank you," she said.

But the dinner didn't quite go as Sansa had hoped.

As Aunt Lysa talked about how Catelyn had been as a child, Sansa had let her guard down, and had started to relax. Stupid mistake. Just because she was out of King's Landing, didn't mean she had escaped the spider's web of intrigue and lies. She would have to learn that no one cared for her, and no one would or could take care of her but her family. _The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

"I'm a virgin, I swear it!" Sansa insisted, even as her aunt kept her vice-like grip on her arm. "He loves _you_ Aunt Lysa!" she lied. _Lie faster. Lie_ better _,_ she told herself. "All he says is that I'm stupid! I'm a stupid little girl, with stupid dreams who never learns, and I'm a terrible liar, so I should always tell the truth," she rambled. "And I swear to you that he's never touched me, not once, not ever!"

Lysa's face relaxed ever so slightly as she stood up and pulled Sansa closer. As if her embrace could ever soothe a wolf. "Shh, shh… it's alright, it will all be alright," she said, her voice too smug to come close to being at all kind.

With her face pressed uncomfortably against her aunt's stomach, Sansa heard her take a breath to continue. Now was the moment! "I know it will be Aunt Lysa, I promise it will be," she said as determinedly as she could. "I could go to the Wall. My brother is there and I would never bother you again! I don't want to cause trife between you and your new husband." The tears in Sansa's eyes weren't forced; this was what she'd wanted for so long. To return home again, to be in the North with her family again…

As she pulled away, she could see that Lysa looked a little taken aback. "I had thought that-" but the Lady of the Vale cut herself off. Sansa could see the calculating look in her aunt's eyes, and knew that she was about to get what she wanted. "Yes. Yes, the Wall will be a good place for you," Lysa whispered. "A Stark belongs in the North, I couldn't keep you all to myself when your people need you, now could I?"

Sansa sobbed again, grabbing onto her aunt. "Thank you…" she managed to gasp. Over Lysa's shoulder, she was smiling. Finally, she was going home.

/*/

It had been far too long since the Tyrells had retreated back to Highgarden, and Loras despised the inactivity. It had been a month and a half since he last saw his sister, and he had no idea where she was, If she was safe - even if she was alive or dead. Clearly, his grandmother knew something she wasn't telling him, which upset him even more.

At that moment, a frantic horse came charging through the gates. Imry Florent was stirring it on, barely stopping in time to dismount. "My lord!" he called to Loras. "Where is your grandmother?"

"Inside, taking her tea," Loras responded. "You have a message?"

The other lord set his jaw. "I just received a raven from Castle Black. It's to be delivered only to her, and no one else. I'm sorry, my lord."

The Knight of Flowers stiffened. "I assure you, Lord Florent, I can deliver whatever missive you have received to my grandmother." Internally, he wondered why his grandmother would be receiving any message from the Wall, and why had it come through such secretive means?

The other man's features hardened. "I'm afraid I must insist, Ser. You may accompany me, and your grandmother may then decide for herself whether or not the information in this missive is to be relayed to yourself."

As irritated as he was, Loras had to admire Lord Florent's strength of character. Here, in the center of Highgarden, Loras could easily order the guards to seize him or simply take the letter for himself. He was a far superior warrior, after all. But something in the other man's stance told him it would get him nowhere. Lord Florent had always been loyal and he wouldn't disobey him for a trivial matter.

Curtly, Loras nodded and preceded the man into the castle. This was proving to be an interesting day after all.

/*/

These days, it wasn't an unusual occurrence for Margaery to find her throat aching. She read to Little Sam - and by extension, the men of the Wall - every day, and it was starting to get tiring. After she'd seen a glimpse of Jon through the door, she decided that her voice would need some rest, so she ended her reading session at the end of the next page. It left the story hanging somewhat, and more than one man groaned at the open ending, but she wouldn't be dissuaded from taking a break. "The story won't have changed by morning," she said jokingly. Though she looked at Grenn and Pyp when she spoke, as opposed to the room as a whole. The other men still didn't want to admit that they had been listening in. Gilly, who had also joined them as a regular listener, gladly took Little Sam from her so she could put him to bed.

Margaery gathered the book and satchel she'd taken to carrying at all times, and set off outside. She wasn't entirely sure where Jon had headed, but she could guess. The castle's layout didn't confuse her so much anymore. She found him outside, in the courtyard, slamming his sword into a dummy again and again. It had been a quarter of an hour at most since she'd spotted him through the door, but he was already working up a sweat. It reminded her in a strange way of Loras, when she would see him in the training yard. Jon was just as agile, and was quite the sight to behold. He wasn't as handsome as Renly, of course, but he was far more attractive than Joffrey.

Margaery mentally shook herself and forced gaze away from the man in front of her. Why in Seven Hells was she comparing Jon to her previous husbands? _Then again,_ she thought as her eyes found him again, _why not?_ He was handsome, intelligent, and just, though a little too serious and brooding at times. But she'd seen him smile and joke as well. There were more sides to the Lord Commander than she'd managed to unravel. Most men were fairly easy to understand. They all had their vices; women, power, drink… but Jon seemed to be a genuinely kind person. "You are too rare a thing in the world," she whispered to herself.

Then, as if he'd heard her - though that was impossible and silly to even consider - Jon looked up, straight into her eyes. Her breath hitched. For a moment, neither of them spoke as they stared at one another.

But then Margaery became uncomfortably aware of the situation and looked down, clearing her throat. "You look like you can handle that as well as my brother," she commented, before schooling her features and taking a few steps closer.

Jon seemed at a loss for words. "Uhm… Your brother… that's… thank you," he finished uncomfortably.

A thought came to her, then, and before she could think about it too much, she voiced it. "Teach me," she said, completely seriously. She looked fierce, and there was a fire burning in her eyes.

/*/

Jon frowned. "Teach you? How to swordfight?"

"Yes. What harm could it do? If I know how to defend myself, perhaps-" she cut herself off abruptly, like she wasn't sure if she should say what she was thinking.

"Perhaps what?" he asked softly, stepping closer.

She sighed. "Perhaps no one will have to die for me again," she said softly, looking no less strong than she had before.

Jon was struck by her spirit. Here was a young woman who'd hardly been able to bear her own weight when she arrived at Castle Black, and now she wanted to learn to spar to save the lives of the people around her. Gently, he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "You have to understand, handling a sword is much harder than it looks. I can't go easy on you if you're going to be good at it."

Margaery nodded. "I understand."

Jon smiled approvingly, patting her shoulder. "Meet me in the armory tonight," he said. Her eyes lit up, and that fierce determination shone through her again. "I want to start you off on something else, though," he said, before she got too carried away.

For a moment, her face fell, but then she nodded. She was curious. "If not swordfighting, what then?" she asked.

Jon seemed to smirk in amusement. "Archery."

/*/

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 **A/N: Be sure to review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Wow, that took a long time...**

 **Sorry. Hello beautiful readers, Anne-Lilian here, and... we apologise profusely for making you wait so long! Honestly, we really hadn't expected it to take so long, but RL and writer's block kind of got in the way. Grad school is crazy for MaryEv, and I have a new job.**

 **And unfortunately, I have more bad news. MaryEv is going to be really busy this month, and I've decided to give NaNoWriMo another shot, so all my creative juices will have to go to my NaNo story... I'm so sorry guys, but the next update will probably be in early December. We hope you can forgive up, and that you'll enjoy this chapter!**  
 **-A &M**

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Chapter 11:

The sun had finally gone down. Margaery was standing outside the door to the armory, shifting anxiously from foot to foot as she looked around. Jon should be here soon, she thought, glancing around to make sure no one else was approaching…

When she turned around again, she wasn't alone. Ghost's red eyes stared back at her; she couldn't even hear his breathing, he was so quiet. She smiled, reaching out to the wolf. "Hello, friend," she murmured softly to him. Margaery could have sworn that if he were human, he would have been smiling. However, the huge creature simply nuzzled into her arm, her hand resting against the coarse fur that covered his massive rib cage. Her eyes closed as she returned to her usual pattern of absentmindedly petting him. She had grown quite attached to him during her time at the Wall…the same way she had grown attached to his master. It suddenly occurred to Margaery that archery lessons would be the first time she and Jon had been in close contact since…well, since she woke up on top of him in his quarters. Seven hells.

Soon enough, she heard quick footsteps, before the Lord Commander himself appeared. "Sorry I'm late," he said softly; Margaery thought she saw a hint of a smile tugging at his face.

She made herself put on her perfect mask and curtsy. "Lord Commander. It was no trouble to wait. Ghost was just keeping me company before you came around the corner."

A larger hint of a wry grin crossed his face. "He's certainly fond of you, my lady."

Her eyes strayed to the silent wolf again. "And I of him," she said softly. She cleared her throat a little awkwardly. "Uhm, to the armory then?"

Jon nodded. "It's this way; follow me."

The room wasn't exactly what she'd expected, even though Margaery didn't remember having any expectations of the place. It looked to her eyes like a storage space more than anything else, only for weapons. There were fewer than she would have thought, considering the amount of men at the castle. There were racks and tables set around the walls of the room, holding various knives, swords, axes, and shields. There were even a few dummies still holding weapons - she supposed they were for attack simulations.

"Now," Jon said, jerking her from her reverie, "the first thing we need to do is find you the right size bow. Stand tall as you can, arms at your sides," he instructed.

Even as Margaery did as he asked, she could feel his eyes on her. She had the feeling it wasn't just to find the proper size bow for her. Feeling - for the first time in a long time - a little like her old self, she raised a brow and smirked at him. There was a slight seductive edge to it, she knew. Jon immediately blushed and looked down, clearing his throat. She felt a smug satisfaction at having been able to affect him as much with just a look.

"Right, let's, uhm, let's try this one," he said quickly, handing her a recurve bow.

Margaery took it, but didn't quite know how to handle the weapon. "How do I…?" she trailed off.

He grinned, having regained his confidence, and stepped closer to her. "Put your hand right there," he said, indicating roughly the middle of the bow. "And now put your other hand on the bowstring," he said, and then immediately correcting her grip. "No, just two fingers. They'll be on either side of the arrow. Do you know which your dominant eye is?"

"No clue," she admitted, smiling. They hadn't even done much, but so far, it was interesting.

He quickly showed her how to determine which of her eyes was her dominant, and then helped her readjust her grip. "Like this," he said, putting his hand over hers and moving her thumb a little. He stood behind her, his arm reached around her. It was a position reminiscent of a seduction technique Margaery had been instructed in - she remembered briefly when Joffrey had shown her how to work his crossbow. Except now it was working on her. And the Lord Commander's body was quite warm this close to hers. Suppressing a blush - no doubt unsuccessfully - Margaery tried to concentrate on what she was doing.

"Right, now draw back, and touch your thumb to the corner of your mouth," Jon went on, completely oblivious to her internal struggle. "No, keep your elbow up high; let your back do all the heavy lifting."

Obviously, her muscles weren't used to such hard labour. Her arms started to tremble from the effort. Just the tiniest bit, but it was enough to frustrate Margaery. She wanted to prove herself capable to handle a weapon, not so…weak.

Noticing her frustration, Jon stepped back. "It's normal that it's hard at first. You aren't used to anything like this, but it'll get better, slowly at first, but still sooner than you'd think. Fair warning, though, you'll be sore and stiff for a while yet," he said. At least he looked sympathetic.

Margaery shot him a sardonic look. "Have you ever had to sit up like a proper lady for hours on end? Or learn ladylike posture?" she asked rhetorically. "Trust me, I'm no stranger to soreness."

He shot her a grin, to which she couldn't help but smile in response. These archery lessons might prove to be even more interesting than she'd thought.

/*/

Sansa couldn't hold in her grin as she rode past the Bloody Gate. Finally, she was free! Her aunt had only provided her with two guards, but Sansa hardly cared. Soon enough, she would be back in the North, where she belonged.

I wonder how Jon has been doing. Sansa hadn't seen her half-brother since they had each left Winterfell – she for King's Landing, he for the Wall. There will certainly be plenty of stories for the both of us to share.

"How long is the ride to the Wall?" Sansa asked one of the guards.

"About three weeks, my lady. Two and a half, if we ride hard each day."

Sansa nodded. It was a long ride, but definitely one that would be worth it. Finally, finally, she'd get to see her family again. Or whatever was left of it, she amended as she thought of Robb, her mother and father, Arya's uncertain fate… She shook her head. No use thinking such dark thoughts now. She was free of Cersei Lannister's clutches, and even Lord Baelish wouldn't be able to manipulate her anymore. No one would ever manipulate her anymore.

For the rest of the day's ride, she focussed on that. Her guards were hardly conversationalists, so she had been trying to reconstruct Winterfell in her mind. Every battlement, every window and broken stone on the old tower. She remembered what it felt like to run her hand over the heated stones during cold days, to walk through the glass gardens on sunny days…

Hours passed like that, until her guards deemed it time to stop for the night at an inn. Honestly, Sansa was grateful. She hadn't spent all that much time on the back of a horse, and she was sore. One of her guards - neither of them had wanted to talk, so she hadn't learned their names - turned around on his horse to face her. "There's a small village up ahead, there should be a decent place to spend the night there," he said.

By all rights, they should address her as 'my lady', but Sansa wasn't sure how much her aunt had told these men. Probably not much. Who would want to escort a Stark through the hostile northern territory? If the Boltons found her, she'd be dead. If the Lannisters found her, she'd be dead. The only families who might show her mercy were some of the northern lords still loyal to the Stark name. But she was no longer naive enough to believe that her name alone would buy her safety. Even the northern lords' loyalty had been tested. After all, weren't the Boltons northern? Weren't the Karstarks?

Shaking those dispiriting thoughts from her head, Sansa focussed on her surroundings. She wasn't entirely certain where she was in relation to Winterfell, but she trusted that her guards knew their way.

It was already getting dark. It seemed her father was right. Winter was coming. Soon.

Suddenly, Sansa whipped around in her saddle. She'd been certain she'd heard something; the ringing of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. But as she peered past her guard into the twilight, she saw nothing.

"Something wrong?" her guard asked.

"I thought…" she started to say, but then she hesitated. They'd just think she was being a scared, silly little girl. She couldn't show them. "Nothing, I just don't recognise these roads."

The man frowned. "Aren't you Littlef- I mean, Lord Baelish's niece? Why would you know the north?" he asked dismissively. Good, he wasn't suspicious.

"I spent a lot of time here when I was little," she replied. It was the truth, after all.

He grunted, clearly accepting her answer, and she turned back around in her saddle. She'd heard something, she was sure of it. Or… well, she was tired. Perhaps her imagination was playing tricks-

She was interrupted when a man jumped out of the bushes with a yell and swung his sword at her rear guard. Luckily, though, the guard managed to get his own blade up in time to parry the blow. The horses started; Sansa was afraid hers might bolt at any second, but she tried to keep it under control. Her heart raced, her palms were sweaty; she didn't know what to do.

Suddenly, she felt hands pulling at her arm, dragging her off her horse. Sansa screamed, kicked, did everything she could do to break away. In her mind, she was back in King's Landing, except that this time the Hound wasn't there to save her.

"Please! Don't, please!" she shouted, still kicking and pushing at whoever was holding her.

The man laughed, and the sounds sent chills down Sansa's spine. He didn't care. Of course he didn't. But Sansa couldn't believe that this was about to happen. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drown out everything that was happening. It couldn't be real.

Her eyes sprang open when she felt a warm liquid spray across her face. The man looked surprised as a sword stuck through his open mouth. Sansa just gaped, frozen.

The sword retracted and the man keeled over, revealing a huge blonde woman who looked…familiar? She was certainly the biggest woman Sansa had ever seen, even despite the fact that she was wearing full plate armor. Where have I seen her before?

"Lady Sansa," the woman said, offering a gloved hand to help Sansa up. Her voice was kind, but still strong.

Gingerly, the redheaded girl reached for the hand and let the woman help her up. That's when she noticed that the fighting had died down. One of her guards lay dead a little further away, and Sansa stared at his corpse. So much death…

The woman stepped into her line of vision, probably trying to protect her from the gruesome sight. Didn't she know that after seeing her father's decaying head on a pike, a freshly dead body hardly bothered her anymore?

"You…were you at Joffrey's wedding?" Sansa finally managed to stammer.

The woman nodded. "I am Brienne of Tarth, my lady. Your mother sent me to find you and your sister."

"My mother is dead," Sansa answered automatically. It sounded like a horribly crass thing to say, for a lady, but it was the truth, and Sansa was tired of lying and pretending.

The woman - Brienne - nodded sadly. "I know. But I swore a sacred vow. I'm to keep you safe."

Sansa looked around. The only other people living were a young man she didn't know and her remaining guard. The latter seemed very confused as to what was going on, but remained silent. "I… I don't know what to do…" Sansa admitted, and hated herself for it. Where was the strong woman who had managed to say that she loved Joffrey, even after he'd had her clothes torn off and humiliated her in front of the entire court?

"The oath is quite simple, my lady," the young man said kindly, smiling at her. It was almost jarring, after months of sneers, derision, pity or indifference. It seemed sincere. She wanted to smile back, but she wasn't sure she still knew how to.

Lady Brienne stepped forwards and knelt, offering her sword. Sansa glanced at the young man for guidance. He just nodded at her. "I will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

"And I shall vow that… that you shall always have a place by my hearth," Sansa said, the words only half-remembered. But what was the rest?

"And meat and mead at my table," the young man prompted. Sansa looked over gratefully and repeated the words.

"And I ask- I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour," Sansa said, more confident, now that she had encouragement from Brienne's companion. "I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Smiling, Brienne rose, sheathing her sword. "Where to, my lady?"

 **A/N: Please let us know what you think!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey all! Anne-Lilian here! We're not dead! Yay!**

 **So, grad school and RL kicked both our butts a little harder than we thought it would, and this chapter was ridiculously hard to write as a result. But now we're back and hopefully also back to our regular schedule.**

 **So without further ado, I'll let you get back to the chapter. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 12:**

Gradually, Margaery started to feel more comfortable with a bow in her hands. Every night at sundown, she would sneak out of her quarters with Gilly to meet the Lord Commander at the armory for another lesson. Ghost would always stand guard as they talked and practiced. Jon was right - there was soreness involved in the learning process. Her whole body ached every night when they were through, but she was determined not to complain. This was something she wanted, and now she was paying her dues.

She had finally moved up to drawing back just the string, and she was making progress. "Good," Jon remarked as he looked at her form. "Remember, keep your back elbow high, and make sure your hands aren't tense around the bow or the string. You want to be able to simply pull back to the corner of your mouth and release."

Margaery nodded, relaxing. "When did you start learning archery, Jon?"

A fond smile spread across his face. "I was about six or seven. I was watching Robb train with Ser Rodrik a few yards away, and I wanted nothing more than to be right there with them. Before I knew it, Father was behind me, hand on my shoulder, asking if I wanted to learn." His look grew nostalgic. "From that day on, I trained with Robb every day, in archery and hand-to-hand combat." A sigh escaped him. "Lady Stark wasn't pleased, but Father insisted with her until she finally relented."

Now it was Margaery's turn to smile, albeit a bit sympathetically. "I remember the first time I watched Loras with a sword. He was probably only a little older than Robb would have been - eight or nine." She chuckled. "He looked so awkward, even with the practice sword. I never would have thought then that he would become one of the greatest fighters of his time, through the whole Seven Kingdoms."

Jon's smile grew as she spoke so fondly of Ser Loras. "I suppose we all have unexpected things happen to us at some point in our lives." He paused. "I never thought watching Robb train that he would become King in the North…or that I would wind up here, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch…" he trailed off, but Margaery was fairly sure what he was thinking, because it probably echoed her own thoughts. _Or that I would have met you._

He quickly straightened, clearing his throat. "Right. Are you ready to start shooting arrows now?"

Her eyes quickly brightened. "Can I?"

Jon chuckled at her almost childlike excitement. It almost reminded him of Arya. But then he remembered how his little sister was the complete opposite to the woman in front of him. Where the youngest Stark girl was all wildness and adventurous spirit, Margaery was the picture of ladylike grace. No wonder Sansa seemed to like her so much. Jon mused that perhaps Margaery would be the only person that could emulate both his sisters equally.

"Can you keep your back elbow up without tensing the rest of your back?" he asked, pulling out of his reverie as he picked up a few arrows and headed towards her. Margaery let her position fall, before resetting. Jon nodded. "Good. Make sure you stay relaxed, especially while you hold the arrow. Remember, just the two fingers around it, and your thumb on the back."

She nodded, resetting again and rolling out her shoulders to relax. Jon moved to stand next to her again as she drew back the string, the way he had with Bran in the Winterfell courtyard so long ago. Just as he had then, he spoke again. "Don't think too much, M- Bethany," he said softly, almost slipping on her name. He remembered Robb's advice to Bran, and promptly heard it coming out of his mouth. "Relax your bow arm," he said, placing a gentle hand on the crook of her left elbow.

She exhaled softly. Her fingers released the string, and the _thud_ of the head landing in the target came soon after Despite the fact that it was dreadfully off-center, Jon smiled. "Good. Hitting the target is the first thing. Now we can work on refining your aim."

Margaery had a small pout of her face that she quickly hid when she noticed him looking at her. That smile really was endearing. "You know, I think I can do better," she said, once again loading an arrow and taking aim. This time, she really took her time, though not to the point where Jon was concerned that she was tensing up too much. She let out a breath, held one more second, and released. As the arrow hit a few inches to the left of the center, she turned to him with a big smile, which he readily returned. He seemed to be doing that much more lately.

A mischievous light entered her eyes. "How about a little wager, Lord Commander?" she asked playfully.

Alright, perhaps she was a little more like Arya than he'd originally thought. "What kind of wager, my lady?" he asked, a little suspiciously.

"I bet," she said, taking a few slow steps around him, " that I will be able to hit the center of the target by the end of next week."

Jon couldn't help his grin. "And what if it's just a lucky shot?" he challenged, more playfully than he'd have thought himself capable of before.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Fine. I get 5 arrows. At least one must hit the center. Deal?" she asked, comically holding out a hand for him to shake.

Jon chuckled. "Very well, 5 arrows," he said, taking her hand and giving it a single shake.

But she didn't let go.

Instead, her smile softened a little. "You don't do that very often. Laugh, I mean," she said. "You have a nice smile," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, Jon was acutely aware that they were alone in a relatively enclosed space, and that her hand was warm in his. Unbidden, his mind went back to the morning he'd woken up with her in his arms. It shouldn't have surprised him that he wanted that to happen again, but somehow, it did. She had fit so nicely against his chest, he remembered, the way her hand fit so well in his now…

The way Margaery's eyes flickered down to his lips was what shocked him out of his stupor. He quickly let go of her hand and took a step back, pretending not to see the slight flash of hurt in her eyes. "Well…I would say you have yourself a deal, Miss Flowers," he said, trying - and probably failing - to smile again.

Margaery did her best to return it, though something inside her flipped with disappointment. _Perhaps he doesn't want me after all._

/*/

The road north was getting noticeably colder, but Sansa felt much more secure now than she had in a long time. She certainly felt much better than she did when she left the Vale, now that she had Brienne guarding her. While Brienne stayed serious and vigilant, her squire - Podrick, whom she remembered from her marriage to Tyrion Lannister - didn't seem to have any problem with chatting to pass the time, especially when they were taking a break and sitting around a fire.

Sansa was content to just listen and let the conversation wash over her. He'd been telling her amusing anecdotes about his training as a squire. He'd even managed to get her to smile once or twice. It never lasted long, but she appreciated his joviality nonetheless.

"I once actually fell over my sword," he joked animatedly. Sansa had the feeling that since Brienne wasn't one for conversation, perhaps he'd missed being able to speak so freely.

"Was that...while you were in Lord Tyrion's service?" Sansa asked hesitantly. She almost felt a twinge of guilt at the fact that she had barely thought of her husband since fleeing King's Landing.

"It was, my lady," Podrick replied, his face changing slightly.

Sansa immediately noticed, and knew something had to be wrong. "What is it, Podrick?"

The young squire sighed. "He was arrested at the wedding for King Joffrey's murder. Just after you disappeared." he told her. "He's awaiting a trial by combat in the black cells, and Cersei is still searching for you."

What had been a pang of guilt moments ago became a wash of it. "N-no...Tyrion wouldn't do that," she stuttered. "He couldn't have. We were together the whole day, until - " she stopped. "Until I left."

A bit to her surprise, there was a look of sympathy in the squire's eyes. "Not to worry, my lady. We both know Lord Tyrion, I'm sure he'll find a way out of his predicament."

Sansa couldn't help but smile. "Perhaps you're right," she said softly.

There was only quiet for a moment before Brienne strode over to them. "At the rate we're going, we should reach the Wall within the week. Are you ready to move on, my lady?"

Energized at the news, the young Lady of Winterfell set her jaw with a new gleam in her eye. "Yes. Let's go. The sooner we get to my brother, the better."

/*/

Gilly sighed happily as she stepped back into the room she now shared with Bethany. It's not that she was frightened to step outside, but being in their own room - with a _locking_ door - made her feel much safer.

She looked up to see Bethany sitting on her cot, playing with Little Sam. Much as she disliked having to hand over her baby to someone else, she knew she could trust her friend as much as she trusted Sam with him. "Hello, Gilly," Bethany said once she noticed her, settling Sam on her lap.

"Hallo Bethany," Gilly replied, smiling. It reminded her in a strange way of living at Craster's Keep. She and her sisters had always stuck together and raised the kids together. In a way, that was what she and Bethany were doing now. Would the other girl mind being compared to a sister, Gilly wondered? "I hope he wasn't too much trouble?" she asked, reaching for the babe.

Bethany handed him over willingly. "Not at all. I've been around my fair share of small children back home; he's by far one of the most mild-mannered I've cared for."

As Gilly cuddled her little boy to her chest, she glanced over at the other woman. "You don't talk about it a lot. Home, I mean."

Bethany's smile slipped a little bit, before gaining it's former strength again. "I miss it," she said frankly. "It's so different there…" she trailed off, obviously getting lost in some memory.

It was odd for Gilly, who'd never been very happy at home, save for the few moments after Craster had been given another daughter to someday make a wife. Or when he was passed out drunk. "Did you have any sisters?" she asked, sitting down on her cot across the room.

"No sisters, but one brother," she said, smiling fondly. Then suddenly, the smile froze, and Bethany seemed to debate something. She glanced at Gilly - who was getting a little confused now - before nodding to herself and seemingly strengthening her resolve. "All the girls thought he was so handsome," she continued. "He had lovely blonde curls, almost like a girl's. Blue eyes. I never saw my brother without a smile when we were growing up."

Gilly tried to picture him, but she didn't have much experience with men, aside from Craster and the men of the Wall. And she didn't think Bethany's brother looked much like them.

Bethany grinned wider then. "He was always showing off to everyone. He's one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, so it was quite a sight to behold."

Again, Gilly tried to picture it. She knew the Lord Commander was a good fighter, so that's what she came up with. She supposed he was handsome, too, but Gilly would always prefer Sam's caring nature to Jon's brooding, serious one.

As she looked up, she noticed Bethany looking at her with a bemused expression. "What were you thinking of just now?" she asked.

"Sam," Gilly said bluntly. She was vaguely aware that a proper lady would probably blush and change the subject, but…well, Gilly was no lady.

Bethany quickly caught on, a friendly smirk forming on her face. "You like him, don't you?"

Gilly frowned at her. "Of course I like him."

Laughing, Bethany scooted closer. "That's not what I meant. You fancy him," she clarified, grinning broadly.

This time, Gilly did blush a little. She knew what it meant, of course, but, again, she had very little experience with this sort of thing. "You think so?" she asked, honestly curious. She knew that her feelings towards Sam were somewhat more fond than towards any of the other men here, but did that mean she fancied him?

Bethany's smile turned mischievous. "I think you and I have some things to talk about…"

/*/

Unbeknownst to the two women, the object of their conversation stood outside the door, blushing from head to toe, and a little shocked at what he had heard. It couldn't possibly be her, but the description… And she _had_ gone missing after the debacle in King's Landing… Add to that the various descriptions he'd heard of the lady in question, and her brother…

But it _couldn't_ be…

Were they harbouring the woman who killed the King?

And, more importantly… Gilly _fancied him?_

 **A/N: Sam has his priorities straight, am I right? ;)**

 **Please review and let us know what you think!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hi everybody! MaryEvH here, back for another chapter! So grad school is kicking my butt, and RL is kicking Anne's at the moment, but we're not abandoning this fic, just super busy!**

 **So, without further ado, enjoy the next chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 13:**

Loras was in a foul mood. His grandmother had been even more reticent than usual since Margaery's disappearance, and now she'd summoned him and father to her quarters. It did not bode well.

He arrived at his destination at the same time as his father. Honestly, his father should know not to let his mother summon him like that. It wasn't very dignified for a Lord of one of the Great Houses to have to answer to his mother, even one as terrifying as Olenna Tyrell.

"Father," Loras greeted.

"Son," his father returned. "After you."

Loras preceded his father into Lady Olenna's quarters, steeling himself. The Lady herself sat at the small table where she usually took her breakfast, her hands folded in her lap and her calculating eyes already on her son and grandson.

Loras loved his grandmother - though he'd never be able to understand the bond she shared with his sister - and knew that the greater part of her frustrations and ire were not meant for him, so intimidated, he was not. Annoyed, curious despite himself and tired were probably the most accurate way to describe himself.

He dropped down into one of the free chairs, being rewarded with a slight scowl from his grandmother at his poor manners. Mace sat down somewhat more calmly.

"Margaery is alive and well," she started without preamble.

Mace was struck dumb. Despite his shock, Loras opened his mouth to argue, but Olenna held up her hand to stop him. "I orchestrated a plan with our guards to smuggle her out of the wedding after the King was poisoned. My intent was for her to go to Bear Island, but they were attacked. Margaery lost her guards one by one, but wound up at the Wall. She's under the personal protection of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"So you knew King Joffrey was going to die?" Loras raged. "Did you kill him, Grandmother?"

"You didn't think I'd let her marry that beast, did you?" Olenna replied more calmly than Loras expected, given the gravity of the situation.

Mace seemed to have finally regained his voice. "Mother, she would have been _Queen_ , what- "

"That's none of your concern," she snapped irritably.

Loras took a deep breath and managed to calm himself down somewhat. "I take it you have a plan?" he asked, leaning forward.

Lady Olenna allowed herself a small smirk. "You could say that…"

/*/

There had been a change in the Lord Commander over the last month, and Edd knew he hadn't been the only one to notice it. "D'you think something's going on with Jon?" he mused to Grenn as they sat in the mess hall.

The ranger looked up to where the Lord Commander was talking to Bethany Flowers - nearly unrecognizable from the girl he and Pyp had found half-dead in the snow. Jon laughed at something she said, and Grenn raised his eyebrows. "I think _something's_ going on, but gods know what. The man hasn't smiled like that since we let Sam Tarly win in the training yard. Remember, when he got here and couldn't fight worth shit?"

"Sam Tarly still can't fight worth shit," Edd muttered, rolling his eyes as Pyp came to join them.

Pyp grinned. "I'll drink to that," he said. "Why are we discussing Sam's shit fighting skills?"

"We aren't," his fellow ranger said, rolling his eyes. "We're talking about Jon."

"Yeah, he seems…different," Grenn commented. "You think him and Miss Bethany…"

The men all looked over at their Lord Commander and his guest. Jon seemed to have sobered up a little and was focussing on his food. Bethany seemed almost disappointed by the change. "Nah, if they were, they wouldn't be all awkward like that," Pyp said.

"Like you're the expert," Edd commented snarkily.

Pyp shot a sour scowl at Edd. "I'll have you know -"

"Alright, gents, that's enough arguing," Sam interjected as he sat down by Grenn, pleasant as ever. "What are we squabbling about this time?"

The others glanced around at each other, before Grenn spoke. "We're talking about…Jon and Bethany," he said hesitantly.

Sam had to try so hard to not feel paralyzed; he could suddenly only think about what he had heard on the other side of that locked door a day earlier. "What about them?" he asked as innocently as he could.

"Well…" his fellow watchman paused. "D'you think Jon's been acting a bit…different lately?"

Frowning, Sam leaned forward and lowered his voice a little. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Grenn said, before glancing at the Lord Commander again. "He's _smiling_ ," he said, almost as if the very thought was unsettling.

Inwardly, Sam heaved a sigh of relief. This was about Jon, not Bethany - or Margaery, if his suspicions proved correct. Outwardly, he could hardly repress a grin. "What, because he fancies a girl?"

The other men raised their eyebrows at his forwardness. They weren't used to this sort of behaviour from him. "Well look at you, being all observant," Edd commented, a little snidely. But Edd lived to be snide, so Sam didn't take offence. "I still think something's going on."

Pyp rolled his eyes. "The thing that's going on is that he fancies her, like Sam here said. And why wouldn't he? She's the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen," he said, keeping his voice to a whisper. It wouldn't do to let any others overhear this.

"Don't forget he had her in his chambers when we got back from the Keep," Grenn reminded, even quieter than before.

Rolling his eyes, Sam settled more securely on the bench. "This is Jon we're talking about. He just wanted to protect her. He'd be the first to say it, I'm sure."

"But if he fancies her…" Pyp started slowly, "then we have to ask…does she fancy him?"

Grenn shrugged. "She seems to, I think. Girls like the brooding types like Jon."

"And Jon really does nothing but brood," Sam pointed out.

Their speculations were interrupted by a loud cry, followed by a gentle female voice. "Shh, sweet boy…" Bethany murmured, rocking Little Sam as she reached for a pocket in her dress. "Do you want a story?"

The men around the table all exchanged looks. "Let's see how she does with _The Mystery Knight_ ," Edd suggested. They all rotated to get a better view of Bethany straddling a bench with Little Sam on her knee as she started to read. At the same time, Grenn and Sam both glanced up to the High Table, where Jon was smiling softly.

They quickly looked back to each other. " _He fancies her alright,"_ Grenn mouthed.

Sam did his best to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit. Things around here were getting more and more interesting by the day.

/*/

Locke hoped the girl reading was enough cover for him to sneak from the mess hall to the rookery. If that girl was who he suspected she was, then Roose Bolton would give him his own bloody castle in exchange for her head. And that wasn't even counting on the little fact that he'd seen none other than little Bran Stark north of the Wall. But first, he'd have to get word to the northern Lord, and for that, he needed ravens.

Several of them squawked as he arrived in the rookery, their coarse voices grating on his ears. He didn't have much time, so he quickly selected one and attached his message to its leg. With most of the Watch in the mess hall listening to the story, no one would see it fly off.

With that done, Locke made his way of the room quickly, only to halt mid-step when he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw someone standing outside. That someone being the Wildling girl Tarly was always drooling over. She looked at him wide-eyed, frozen. He sneered. "Out of the way, girl," he snapped. He wasn't particularly worried about her having seen him. Who would believe a Wildling, after all? Besides, he doubted the wench even knew he wasn't supposed to be in here.

When she didn't move, he got irritated. "Are you deaf? Move!"

"I…" The girl glanced over her shoulder fearfully.

"Gilly, dear?" a softer voice called forward. _The old maester,_ Locke realized _._ "Is the meat out for the ravens? It's almost time to feed them."

Locke knew he couldn't stay here any longer; no one would believe the Wildling bitch, but the Maester would be believed without question. He roughly shoved the girl out of his way and sped down the hall, but he was too late. Maester Aemon stepped out of his door, directly into Locke's path.

The old man turned his unnerving white eyes on him, and Locke repressed a shudder. Maybe if he didn't speak, the Maester wouldn't know who-

"You're not supposed to be here," the Maester said.

 _Shite,_ Locke thought. He didn't think the old man knew who he was just yet, but it wouldn't take long for that Wildling bitch to rat him out. He shouldered past the Maester, not quite shoving him into a wall like he'd done to the girl, but being none too gentle about it either. The longer the man was down, the longer Locke would have to think of a plan.

He needed to get out of here soon.

/*/

"Gillyflower, who was that?" Maester Aemon asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know his name," she said ruefully. "But I've seen him before. He has a nasty scar under his eye, and a beard." She paused. "He was at the Keep."

Maester Aemon's face changed in a way she hadn't quite seen before. "Locke, they call him," he said softly. "Watch him closely for me, Gilly. Be my eyes."

"Shouldn't we tell Jon? Or Sam, at least?" she asked.

The old man nodded slowly. "The Lord Commander will know shortly. But first, we must feed the ravens," he said, reaching out for the railing on his other side. Gilly helped guide him to the buckets of meat, dropping them into the ravens' cages. "Don't fret too much, Gilly," he assured her. "All these things will come to their own ends."

She frowned a little. The maester was a cryptic old man, but she liked him. "I'll go talk to Jon when the ravens are fed," she assured him.

/*/

The sky was darkening, and Sansa thought it might snow. She didn't care, though, nothing could spoil her good mood. Finally, _finally_ , she was somewhere familiar. They'd skirted around the lands of Winterfell, not wanting to come across Bolton men - alright, maybe there _was_ something that could foul her mood, but Sansa quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind - before heading even further north. They'd lost sight of Long Lake yesterday, and could finally risk going over the main road again, something they hadn't dared since before Castle Cerwyn. Another day's ride, maybe, and they'd reach Castle Black. She'd finally see her family again.

Well…what was left of her family.

It was strange, even just a few months ago, she would never have called Jon her family. But now that she knew more about the world, knew how cruel it could be, all she felt was guilt for having treated him so horribly, and relief at still having at least one family member left within riding distance - who might know where Arya was now. That is, if he felt the same way. Perhaps he didn't want to see her either. He was her brother, but she'd always been so horrible to him…what if he didn't want anything to do with her?

"My lady?" Pod interrupted her train of thought. "Are you alright?" he asked kindly.

Sansa forced a smile - something that had become second nature to her during her time in King's Landing. "Just lost in thought. I'm impatient to reach Castle Black and my brother," she said.

"I can imagine. I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to see you again," he assured her. It was impossible not to smile a little more genuinely in the face of his optimism.

"Thank you, Podrick," she said genuinely.

The man blushed a little. "Oh, well, it's nothing! I mean, why wouldn't he be overjoyed to see you? You haven't seen your brother in months, haven't you? Or.. do you prefer half-brother?" he asked, clearly flustered.

Sansa was a little confused by the squire's sudden interest in what she called her family members, but brushed it off. She didn't know him that well, perhaps this was simply what he was like? "Brother is fine," she replied, her polite smile back in place.

"We're making good time, my lady" Brienne interrupted. "At this rate, we could reach Castle Black just past nightfall," she said, looking up at the sky to judge the position of the sun.

 _Just past nightfall!_ They were so close now; her heart almost skipped a beat. "Perfect. Let's keep going. I hope I'm not being too optimistic to pray for our next stop to be Castle Black."

Brienne smiled. "Not at all, my lady."

The trio rode on in companionable silence for quite some time, accompanied only by the sounds of horse hooves on the packed dirt of the road, and the few birds still in the trees. Shortly, though, their silence was broken by the sound of a whinny - it started far out, but gradually closed in. Sansa stopped her horse next to Brienne. "Did you hear that?" she murmured to her guard.

"Yes, my lady," Brienne whispered. Her face changed as they listened, until she said firmly to Sansa, "Get behind me."

Sansa was able to hide behind her just in time for a frenzied horse to burst through the bushes, pushed by a rider who looked as though he was being followed by a demon. He bolted past them, evidently not even noticing they were there, he was going so fast. Podrick and Brienne exchanged looks once the mystery rider was out of sight. A moment later, Brienne finally relaxed, though she kept a wary eye on the road ahead.

"Wonder what he was running from," Podrick mused, still looking back over his shoulder.

"I'd rather not hazard a guess. Let's hasten on to the Wall, I want to get there as soon as possible," she replied as she spurred on her horse.

They went the rest of the way in silence, though this time, the tension in the three companions was almost palpable. Sansa had already drawn her hood over her head to hide her recognizable Tully red hair, but she still felt…exposed. She tried to relax in the saddle, letting the cadence of hoofbeats calm her down…come to think of it, she didn't remember the last time she'd _really_ slept…

/*/

"My lady. My lady?" Brienne's voice woke her.

Sansa sat up, still on her horse, rubbing her eyes. "How long was I asleep?" It was a true testament to her fatigue that she had been able to fall asleep in the saddle - and _remain_ up there instead of falling.

"Not very long," the other woman replied.

"Lady Sansa, look!" Podrick interrupted, sounding excited. He was riding to her right where Brienne was to her left, and he was pointing to something ahead.

In front of them, she could see the road stretch out until it finally reached… "The Wall," Sansa breathed in awe. It truly was a sight to behold. She could almost see the entire structure as it stretched from coast to coast. Even so, she could imagine that it was even more impressive when viewed from the top.

Her eyes trailed downwards and there, nestled at the foot of the massive ice wall sat what looked like a tiny structure in comparison. Some of the wood was getting old, but she knew what those gates were. "The gates of Castle Black. We're here," she breathed.

From atop the Wall came a shout - "Incoming riders! Open the gate!"

* * *

 **A/N: Let us know what you think!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hey guys, Anne-Lilian here! MaryEvH sends her apologies, but with the push to finals, she just didn't have time to update.  
That said, we do apologize for how long this has taken. At least Mary has an excuse, me, not so much, sorry!**

 **Anyway, we have about 1k words written on the next chapter, and when we figure out how to get past the scene we're currently working on (Jon isn't cooperating, it's all his fault, really), we'll be sure to update again.**

 **Until then; enjoy!**

 **Chapter 14:**

Loras sighed. At this rate, it would take them weeks to reach the North.

He knew, on an intellectual level, that it simply took time to move a force of their size, but what good would they be if they arrived at the Wall too late?

"Relax, Loras, we'll get there."

Loras glanced over at his friend. Garlan of House Fossoway was a few years his senior, but he and Loras had always gotten along famously, ever since they met as children and the elder of the two introduced the young lordling to the art of blades.

"I'd prefer to get there before one of those criminals puts his grubby hands on my sister," he grumbled, as he adjusted the collar of his shirt.

"Well, unfortunately, we'd be able to move faster if we could travel openly, but seeing as… Bethany, was it? Seeing as she's still a fugitive, this is what we have to resort to," Garlan replied logically.

'This' was 200 of House Tyrell's best mounted knights, disguised as a company of sellswords. Loras would much prefer to have worn his armour, but he supposed these rags did serve a purpose. And they couldn't very well run their horses ragged, because they couldn't exchange them anywhere along the long road north.

"I know this will take longer, but taking the long way, and disguising ourselves is our best chance of getting there undetected. The last thing we need is the Lannisters finding out what we're up to and grabbing 'Bethany' before we can," Garlan continued.

"I'm not sure this counts as the 'long way', Garlan, the Rose Road would have taken us to King's Landing first. Skirting the mountains like this may not be practical, but it _is_ technically shorter as the crow flies."

Garlan shot him a flat look, letting him know that his snark was not appreciated. "Either way, Loras, we'll get there in time to help your sister," he murmured. "She's going to be alright."

The Knight of Flowers sighed. "I hope you're right." He spurred his horse forward, prompting the other knights to do the same. League by league, they would get there.

/*/

The huge gate slowly creaked open in front of them, revealing what Sansa assumed would normally be a bustling courtyard. Now, all who stood there had stopped to see who was arriving. Sansa felt herself blush, before she steeled herself. At least here, the only thing she could see in the men's faces was curiosity and a hint of suspicion. In King's Landing…she shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind as she scanned the faces she could see. None of them looked familiar.

"Who goes there?" a man finally called out as they stopped the horses in the courtyard and dismounted.

"I am Lady Brienne of Tarth. I seek Jon Snow," Brienne said in her clear, strong voice. Sansa had hidden her hair beneath her hood again as they'd come within a stone's throw of the castle. Brienne had wanted her to stay hidden until they were certain of her brother's protection.

"I'm Jon Snow, but I know no one from Tarth."

Sansa froze at the sound of that voice. She hadn't heard any of the voices of her family for so long… but she'd know any of them in an instant. Slowly, she turned around and lowered her hood, her red hair standing out in the grey surroundings.

Immediately, her eyes found Jon, standing on a walkway a little above her. Jon had clearly noticed the movement, and looked down at her. His scowl melted away instantly, replaced by a look of surprise. Slowly, he climbed down the steps from where he stood. All of Sansa's fears about being rejected by Jon finally started to subside as she dismounted from her horse.

Jon stopped a few steps away from her, but Sansa couldn't hold herself back. She raced to her half-brother, practically leaping into his arms. He caught her, of course, hugging her tightly, and she heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

She was home.

/*/

Roose Bolton was not pleased.

The man kneeling in front of him was supposed to have been his eyes and ears at Castle Black, but was now a deserter and, for all intents and purposes, a dead man. "My lord," the man said, his voice hoarse and breath still shallow from his quick dash to Winterfell.

"Don't speak," the Lord of Winterfell snapped, uncharacteristically angry.

"Father," Ramsay interrupted quietly, attracting the lord's ire.

"Hold your tongue, boy," Roose hissed. Then, he turned to the two guards that stood at the edge of the room. "Leave us," he commanded them. With respectful bows, they left.

Lord Bolton had been standing in front of the high table, glaring down at his former ally and prisoner, but now he strode forwards menacingly. "I set you a task, which you have clearly been unable to perform."

Locke shot a quick glance at Ramsay, seemingly nervous. "My lord," the man started again. "I had to leave. I was discovered in a area off limits to me-"

"Another clear sign of your incompetence," Roose interrupted.

Locke faltered uneasily, before steeling himself and facing his lord once more. "I have discovered information, my lord, something you would be interested in, I'm sure."

The deserter's words only served to heighten Roose's anger. "You should know better than to speak for me," he said coldly. "Ramsay, he's yours to play with."

Locke's eyes grew wide as he took in the younger Bolton's feral grin. "No, wait! Your lordship, please!" When his pleas fell on deaf ears and Ramsay started advancing towards him, the traitor shuffled back on his knees. "Please!" As Roose watched, something changed in the man's face, as though he'd made a decision. With one last look at Ramsay, Locke turned his eyes onto his lord's and said, "The Queen is in the Castle!"

Instantly, Roose held up a hand to forestall his son. "Wait," he said softly, to Ramsay's annoyance.

Locke, looking infinitely relieved, sagged where he knelt. "I found proof," he said, " The _Queen_ is in the _Castle_ ," he repeated, his words careful as he glanced at Ramsay again.

Roose turning those words over in his mind. Obviously the ferrety man hadn't been speaking of Cersei Lannister, so the only other option was the still-missing Margaery Tyrell… This could be interesting.

Unfortunately, despite his careful wording, Ramsay was no fool. "The Queen…? You can't mean the Tyrell girl?" he said incredulously.

"Calm down, Ramsay," Roose said, turning and starting to pace. "We could use this information to our advantage."

Ramsay looked thoughtful - not a good look on his son. "Having the girl in our possession _would_ -"

Roose rolled his eyes in irritation. "We cannot just _take_ her, especially considering she is in the custody of the Night's Watch, Ramsay. For all our sakes, think!" Ramsay glared, but kept his mouth shut, thank the Gods.

Roose studied Locke for a moment. The man looked absolutely terrified, and the Lord of Winterfell felt a passing twinge of disgust. Perhaps he had been a useful spy, but after this cock-up, he was of no more use, especially now that he had divulged the only useful information he had managed to gather. More quickly than one might expect for a man of his age, he pulled out a knife and sliced Locke's throat.

The other man's eyes widened as blood poured from the open wound, quickly soaking his clothes. He gasped for breath as Roose and Ramsay looked on, impassive.

"Father, be reasonable," Ramsay said, not even bothering to watch the deserter die. Roose marched out of the room, ignoring his bastard.

"I am being reasonable," he replied, as if nothing had happened. "Surely even you don't think you could take an army to the gates of Castle Black and snatch the Tyrell girl, even if she would make a valuable hostage."

Ramsay smirked. "I don't need an army," he replied smugly. "I need twenty good men."

Just as quickly as before, Roose turned around and backhanded the younger man, to his shock. "Foolish boy," he snapped. "You'd get yourself killed by a Tyrell army or enlisted in the Watch before making it twenty steps!"

Ramsay was seething, but Roose couldn't care less. The boy had potential, but he'd have to learn to use his mind and curb his bloodlust. Or at least hide it better, lest he get himself killed.

No sooner had he thought those words when he felt a sharp, stabbing pain. Ramsay was just behind him, having plunged a knife into his side. A sadistic grin that he had often seen on his bastard's face was now directed at him. He grasped the younger man's shoulders, his fingers digging into his son's flesh as he struggled to articulate his shock. The pain was ebbing now, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Roose realized that this was not a good thing. He felt himself sink down to the stone floor, the boy's smirk now looming over him.

"What…have you done?" he managed to utter, his breath coming in quick gasps. Cold clawed at his extremities, though it shouldn't… Winterfell was always well-heated…

"What you couldn't, Father. And I have the perfect scapegoat," Ramsay replied as he casually walked over to Locke's body, dragging the dead man across the room. His boots made an awful scraping sound across the stone that vibrated through Roose's body. He lacked the strength to stand, his body slumping to the ground.

So many men had he helped to their demise…this would _not_ be his end. "Guards!" he called, his voice feeble.

"In here!" Ramsay shouted, much to his father's surprise. When the guards burst in, the boy had made his way to the dying lord and had pressed a hand to the wound. The sharp pain - so in contrast to the numbness that had spread through Roose's body - stole the air from his lungs. "That traitor stabbed him!" Ramsay shouted, pointing to Locke's body.

Despite the flaw in that logic, the guards only briefly glanced at their dying lord before marching forward to drag Locke's corpse from the room. The cowards were either too scared of Ramsay to contradict him, or too power hungry to care.

Roose could feel his breathing getting more difficult; it wouldn't be long now. "Father…" Ramsay murmured, his concern almost convincing.

"Burn…in…the seventh hell," Roose managed to choke out, before he finally gave up and the world turned black.

/*/

Edd hurried to the Lord Commander's chambers, carrying two messages for Jon. He'd intercepted the messenger before any of Thorne's loyalists could take the letters, thankfully. The Lord Commander had too many enemies for Edd to ever be entirely comfortable, but so far, the worst they seemed to do was grumble and glare, which suited the Night's Watchman just fine. Let them behave like children, as opposed to proper threats, for as long as possible. They had enough to deal with just the Wildlings. And whatever else dwelled north of the Wall.

Jon was looking over paperwork with a glazed expression when Edd walked in. The Lord Commander looked up gratefully, probably welcoming the distraction.

"Edd. Come in," he said redundantly, since the other man had already stepped fully inside.

"Messages for you, Lord Commander," he said, handing over the small scrolls. "I picked them up before any of Ser Alliser's friends could," he said dryly.

Jon could barely muster a smile, but Edd knew he was grateful for the loyalty of his friend. "Thank you, Edd. You can resume your duties as normal." With a quick nod, he left, closing the heavy door behind him, and the Lord Commander turned his attention to the scrolls in his hand.

/*/

It had been a day since Sansa had arrived at Castle Black. She and Jon had spent hours catching up, until the light had faded and the candles had nearly burnt out. After that, Jon had sent her and Brienne to one of the unoccupied rooms and had escorted Pod to another room.

Today, she'd hoped to continue their conversation, but Jon was the Lord Commander, and had his duties to tend to, so Sansa had been left to her own devices. Brienne was her loyal shadow, something for which Sansa was immensely grateful in a castle full of thieves, rapists, and murderers.

She was currently in the courtyard, watching Brienne and Podrick train. Some of the Night's Watchmen had also come out to watch; many of them looked impressed by Brienne's form and skill in combat. Sansa had the feeling that entertainment like this was hard to come by in this place.

She'd seen the duo spar a number of times already, and though it was interesting to watch, Sansa's attention started to fade after a few minutes. Instead, she watched the crowd. These men looked hardened by the harsh climate this far north, but they didn't all look as intimidating as Sansa had always imagined them. Most of them were just…people, going about their business. It was as her eyes slid over the crowd that she noticed two figures walking across one of the parapets. Both were cloaked against the cold weather, and both, from their gaits, were clearly women.

Sansa started, but quickly stifled her gasp so as not to alarm anyone. There were no women at the Wall, herself and Brienne excluded, but theirs was an extraordinary circumstance. _What could two_ other _women possibly be doing at the Wall?_

She cursed herself for just a moment, trying to figure out a way to cross the parapets to get to them. It was only her second day at the Castle; she still wasn't entirely sure which way to go…she hurried up the steps, hoping Brienne wouldn't notice her as she tried to calculate a route in her mind.

It took her a few minutes to reach her destination, so of course the women had disappeared when she arrived. She was disappointed for only a moment, before she knew who to go to.

 **A/N: Please let us know what you guys thought of this chapter! We finally got that reunion! Not quite as emotional as in the series, we know, but we hope it did live up to your expectations. Oh, and Locke's finally dead! As is Roose (a little sooner than in canon, but oh well).**

 **Again, please let us know what you guys thought. Your reviews really do help us to stay motivated to write.**

 **See you at the next chapter!**

 **-Anne**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: MaryEvH here; thanks so much for sticking with us! I won't bore you for too long with programming notes, so read, review, and most of all, enjoy this new chapter!**

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Jon had finally sat down behind his desk, holding a small token between two fingers. The gold necklace had an unusually long chain, but it would be perfectly hidden under a gown. His thumb went to the intricate pendant of a Tyrell rose, gently stroking it. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He hoped it would make her happy.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he called, hurriedly setting the pendant down and covering it with one of the letters.

Sansa opened the door and hesitantly stepped inside. "Is this a good time?"

He smiled at her. "Always, please sit," he said, standing from behind his desk and gesturing to the chair on the other side of it.

She took the offered seat and regarded him for a moment. "You look like him," she said quietly as he sat back down.

Jon quirked an eyebrow. "Like who?"

"Father. The furs, the desk… it suits you," she said, offering a small smile as well.

Jon looked down, both saddened and happy at the comparison. "I don't think I could ever live up to him."

"I know how you feel," she replied softly. "We have big boots to fill, being the last of the Starks."

Looking up, he studied her hooded eyes. "No one's heard from Arya?" he asked, knowing full well what had happened to all his brothers.

Sansa shook her head. "Brienne mentioned seeing her on the road with the Hound, but she left him for dead. No one's heard from Arya since."

Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He really didn't have the energy to contemplate the fate of his remaining family members. "You didn't come here to discuss Arya, though," he said, changing the subject.

A strange looked crossed his sister's face. "No, I didn't. How could you tell?"

"I've been at the Wall for a while; I had to learn how to read faces," he replied. "What's on your mind, Sansa?"

She glanced briefly over her shoulder at the door, and Jon briefly wondered if she was uncomfortable with her back facing the door. "I was watching Brienne and Pod train when I noticed two women walk across the parapet. I thought there weren't any women at the Wall?" she asked, her voice noticeably quieter.

"Normally no. The women you saw were Gilly and - Bethany," he said, managing to catch himself before he spoke her real name. "Gilly is… from beyond the Wall. She needed sanctuary and we provided it."

Something in Sansa's eyes sharpened, and he knew he wouldn't get away without explaining "Bethany's" presence here as well. "And what about Bethany? Where is she from?"

A knock at the door interrupted them. _Thank the Gods_ , Jon thought. "Come in!" he called out, hoping Sam or Pyp had decided to rescue him...from his sister. _When did this happen?_

But instead of one of his friends stepping inside, the object of their conversation opened the door. She looked startled to see Sansa sitting in front of his desk, and Sansa was…well, shocked was an understatement.

"Margaery?" Sansa breathed, halfway getting out of her chair.

Margaery broke out into the most radiant grin Jon had ever seen, and quickly made up the distance, pulling the redhead into a hug. Both girls seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they held onto one another. He got up to latch the door; he certainly didn't need Sam or Pyp walking in now.

"How did you get here, sweet girl?" Margaery asked Sansa.

"I would ask you the same thing," Sansa replied, still in disbelief.

Margaery glanced at Jon, now sitting behind his desk again. "It's…a bit of a long story." Jon leaned back in his chair, listening as Margaery began to recount everything that had happened. He'd heard the majority of it before, so he only listened with half an ear. Instead, his eyes trailed downward, to the necklace that lay obscured by the letter bearing the Bolton sigil. He frowned at the flayed man seal, disliking the way it covered Margaery's rose necklace. The symbolism of it bothered him to the point that he moved the Bolton letter and replaced it with a report. There, the seal of the black crow was much better.

His half-sister's voice distracted him. "Jon? Is everything alright?"

He ran a hand over his face. "I'm fine," he replied, not wanting either of the women to worry about him.

"I think we're bothering him," Margaery said, her tone teasing, but her eyes worried. "We should retire to my quarters, where we can gossip in peace without long-suffering brothers around," she said, and Jon couldn't help the upturn of his lips. He was glad they had found each other.

As the women left, Jon finally looked at the missives he'd received alongside the necklace. He'd taken note of the Bolton one and the one containing the rose necklace, but the third surprised him. It reported the sighting of Tyrell armed forces moving North. Lady Olenna had said nothing of sending her men, but if they were heading North, they could only be coming to one place…

But was it really a bad thing? With the increased sightings of Wildlings in the area, Jon knew it couldn't be much longer until Mance decided to attack Castle Black, and his lie about their numbers would only hold up for so long. Perhaps the Tyrell army could turn the battle in their favour? Provided the Lords would take orders from a bastard in black.

His eyes went back to the Bolton missive. He had to open it sooner or later… Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair again. Better get it over with.

The contents were…not what he expected. Gilly and Maester Aemon had told him about their run-in with Locke in the rookery, and after the man had disappeared south, he'd considered sending some men after him, but he really couldn't spare them. It seemed Lord Bolton had done him a favour. Though with that family…

He gathered the papers in his hands, sighing again. So much was happening, and it was all happening so fast. _How can I command my men, protect the Wall, and keep my friends and family safe?_

He sat with his face in his hands for a moment, until Ghost padded across the office and placed his head in Jon's lap. "What do you think I should do, boy?" he asked the direwolf. The animal tilted his head, his red eyes piercing Jon's, like he already knew what Jon should do. "They've finally found each other; I can't interrupt them now," he sighed, even though he longed to talk things over with Margaery. Over the course of their conversations, he'd learned that she could be quite the strategist, and she knew how to keep a cool head.

The Lord Commander deliberated with himself at the desk for another moment, before resolving to talk to her. He got up, motioned for Ghost to follow him, and went out the door. But as he got closer to Margaery and Gilly's quarters, he hesitated again. What did it say about him that he was willing to interrupt two close friends just after their reunion – and that he would seek out the tactical advice of a woman before that of his own sworn brothers?

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Sam appeared as he rounded the corner. "Ah, Jon," he smiled.

"Sam," Jon greeted with a nod. Perhaps it would be better not to disturb the ladies after all. "Been to speak with Gilly, I presume?"

Sam flushed faintly. "Edd, actually," the other man corrected, collecting himself. "He said you'd received some messages. Anything important?"

"A few," he admitted. "You can tell Maester Aemon that Roose Bolton took care of Locke for us. Though I almost wish he hadn't; we've now lost the chance to interrogate him."

"Really? Why would Lord Bolton concern himself with that?" Sam asked, and Jon could almost see him thinking. His friend was a smart one, that was for certain.

"I don't know, but I doubt it was out of the goodness of his heart. The Boltons aren't the type to do anything unless it profits them in some way," Jon replied, mulling over the conundrum himself. Looking at the facts, there was one explanation that took into account all the facts, but he wanted to see what Sam thought.

His friend's eyes widened. "You think Locke was a spy for the Boltons? But…why put a spy on the _Wall_ , of all places? No one cares what happens here…"

Jon frowned. "The Boltons are Northerners, even if they haven't a lick of Northern loyalty. And their lands lie close to the Wall. Stands to reason they'd have a vested interest in what goes on here."

Sam nodded, agreeing with his friend. "Not to mention you're here."

This time, Jon's frown was one of surprise. "What?"

Sam blinked. "Well, with your family mostly gone," he said with a wince of compassion, "they might be scared that you could rally the other Northern Houses against them."

"But I've taken the black. Even if I wanted to," he said, ignoring the fact that a small part of him did indeed want to reclaim his family's home, "I couldn't do anything. I belong here. I'm the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"And with that comes power," Sam noted, "even if it's only power over the men of the Wall." Jon paused to consider his friend's words, even as Sam went on. "And besides, not everyone puts as much stock in our vows as we do. They might think you'll take any opportunity to get away from all this. I know a lot of the men would."

Jon sighed. "You have a point, Sam. As always. I wish I knew what to do."

"My mum always told me to stop thinking so much and take it one step at a time," his friend advised. "My problem was always finding the first step," he admitted with a self-deprecating grin.

The Lord Commander couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Sound counsel, indeed." Jon looked over Sam's shoulder, in the direction of Margaery and Gilly's chambers, and realized that he really shouldn't disturb the ladies. "I'll accompany you to Maester Aemon," he said, making his decision. "Perhaps he can offer some similar advice."

/*/

"So what's the plan?" someone asked a few horses away.

Portar only looked up from his pack once the Bolton insignia was safely hidden away. "Easy. We go in as prisoners. The Wall's always lookin' for fresh meat, right? An' then we get the girl soon as we see 'er," he explained. "You can pretend to be a guard or somefin'."

They were 5 men, in all, which was all Ramsay Bolton had sent. Originally, he'd ordered 20, but 20 men couldn't take Castle Black, nor could they enter unseen. So the Bolton bastard had changed the plan. It didn't sit completely right with Portar, the way old man Bolton had died, but none of his companions would care. And so, he had to put it out of his mind. So long as he got paid.

"Who is this girlie anyway?" one of the men asked. "Some lass he wants to put his cock in?"

"I'll bet ye 5 coppers that she'll be out on th' cross by mornin'," another chimed in, a hungry light in his eyes.

"I don't take fool's bets," the first man laughed loudly.

But he wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he scanned the trees around them. They'd stopped for a moment to regroup and go over the plan, thinking the lands in the Gift were safe enough, but now he wasn't so sure. Something rustled ever so slightly beyond the ring their fire lit.

"Hush, you idiots," Portar snapped, half-rising and grabbing his knife. They hadn't brought swords, on account of prisoners shouldn't have any weapons whatsoever, but now he lamented that decision.

He peered into the darkness to his left, sure he'd seen something. Then, suddenly, one of his comrades cried out behind him. Portar whirled around, but saw only the arrow protruding from one of the men's necks. The others cried out in dismay and clutched their paltry weapons, forming a circle around the fire.

A loud cry of war shattered the silence, and then they were upon them. Men and women wearing pelts and furs, their appearance shabby and unkempt.

Wildlings.

There were Wildlings south of the Wall. And not a small amount of them either.

He slashed at one man - or was it a woman? - and felled them, but there was another in their place just as quickly. He heard a gurgle behind him, and knew another of his mates had been killed.

A blade cut into his leg, forcing him to his knees. He looked up into the face of the devil; a man with a heavily scarred face and bald head - a Thenn - loomed over him, grinning. Blood coated his chin, and was spattered across his face. The Wildling exposed his teeth and gripped Portar by the shoulders, raising his blade.

The last thing Portar saw was a Wildling going through his pack and pulling out the Bolton sigil.

 _At least that bastard will go down with us,_ he thought, before he knew no more.

/*/

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 **A/N: Dun dun DUUUUUUNNNNN!**

 **Leave us a review if you liked it!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: MaryEvH here - *dodges rotting fruit* I know, this update took WAY too long! But Anne and I are back with a new chapter for you, and we hope you love it as much as we do, because it took a LONG TIME. (As you all know.)**

 **So, here's chapter 16!**

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 **Chapter 16:**

Stannis Baratheon, rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, sat at the head of the table in his council chambers at Dragonstone, a sour look on his face. His fleet had been defeated in the disastrous battle of the Blackwater, and he still had not recovered. Every single one of his ships had gone down, and with them, his chance to sit on the Iron Throne.

But in his hand, he held something that might change his fate. The missive had reached him a day ago, but he had not yet decided what to do with the information. Apparently, part of the Tyrell army had been seen marching north. Far north. Stannis frowned deeper, thinking to himself.

Soon, the clack of boots on the hard floor interrupted his thoughts. "Your Grace," a familiar voice said.

"Ser Davos," he replied almost boredly. "What news?"

"Nothing good, Your Grace, as usual," his Hand sighed grimly. When his Lord did not reply, Davos looked down at the letter in Stannis' hand. "Have you decided on a course of action, Your Grace?"

Glancing down once again, Stannis frowned thoughtfully. Did he really have anything to lose? "Yes. I believe I have…"

"Your Grace?"

"Prepare the men, Ser Davos. It seems we have a long voyage ahead of us."

Ser Davos raised his eyebrows, but bowed all the same. "I'll see to it immediately."

"Very good." Stannis rose from his seat with a stretch. Whether this move turned out to be genius or folly would depend on the next few weeks, but he was determined to see it through.

/*/

Training was more essential than ever now, but that didn't mean that Jon enjoyed it any more than usual. It wasn't technically his job to train the men, but with the threat of the Wildlings hanging over them, he felt it was his duty, as their leader.

"Just because you lost your sword, doesn't mean you can't fight!" he told his opponent after he'd disarmed the man, a new recruit. He swung at him, but the man just clumsily jumped backward.

"You need to step into his swing and plant your feet!" a feminine voice interrupted before he could offer that same advice. Every head in the courtyard turned to its source.

 _Margaery. Of course,_ he thought, suppressing a grin.

"And wha' th' 'ell does a lady know abou' fightin'?" One of the recruits yelled back.

Jon was tempted to interrupt, but held his tongue when he saw the lady's smirk. _I know that look._

She trotted down the stairs and picked up a practice sword. "I'd be happy to demonstrate," she dared. The men wisely hesitated, and Jon stepped up before any of them could get any ideas. Once he was in place, Margaery assumed a balanced starting stance. The new recruits roared with laughter, but the more seasoned men - Jon's friends among them - exchanged _looks_. He tried not to read too much into that.

"Ready?" she asked playfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes, along with a barely suppressed smirk.

Jon lunged, knowing she would swiftly block the strike. She spun out of the parry, launching at Jon with a thrust of her own, which he only dodged in the nick of time. Margaery made up for her lack of strength with her swift slashes. None of them would do much damage against a properly armoured opponent, but it would definitely wear them out.

They circled one another, the rest of the world forgotten. Jon knew Margaery had improved by leaps and bounds since he'd started teaching her, but she was still no match for him. Some of the newer recruits, certainly, but not someone who'd been training since he was a boy. In a few swift moves, he'd divested her of her sword.

Still, she smirked, and when he swung again, she stepped into his swing, planted her feet, and pushed him off balance. Jon would have been able to recover from a move like that, but that wasn't the point of this exercise. And so, he allowed himself to stumble back, but kept to his feet. No need to embarrass himself further.

By now, the new recruits who had been laughing at her had gone completely silent. Until a somewhat timid voice broke the silence - "Say, can you show me that move?"

Jon looked over to see Podrick - who had called out - standing next to his sister on the edge of the training area. He didn't look in the least offended that a woman would be a good fighter. But then, as the squire to Lady Brienne, why would he?

Margaery, now with a slight blush on her cheeks - looking more beautiful than ever - nodded. "Of course."

"Jon." Ed strode over to him, a serious look on his face. "Bad news," he said under his breath. "The Wildlings are closing in. They'll be on our doorstep at any moment."

Jon's stomach dropped. "I'm afraid that'll have to be the end of the demonstration, Miss Flowers," he said, only slightly looking away from Edd. "Get the men ready," he whispered. "I need to speak to you, Sansa, and Lady Brienne in my office," he said to her, out of hearing range of the masses.

/*/

As Edd started barking orders to the men, Jon and Margaery gathered up the others and headed back inside the castle. Margaery knew the look on Jon's face - and the tone in his voice when he ended her demonstration. This wasn't going to be good news.

"Bethany?" an unassuming voice came from her left. Gilly. "What's going on?"

Margaery paused for a moment before answering her friend - Jon hadn't included her in the original group of people listed, but if things were as dire as she thought, Gilly would need to be there to hear Jon's plan. "Come with us," she said, taking the hand the young mother wasn't using to cradle her child.

Once the whole ensemble had all been gathered up, Jon locked the office door and got straight to his point. "The Wildlings are practically at our gates. I have no doubt some of them will try to climb the Wall."

Margaery's stomach dropped, and Sansa went white as a sheet next to her, gripping the arm of the chair. It occurred to Margaery that the other woman might not have heard Jon's whole saga of going beyond the Wall, and she took her friend's hand in an attempt to quell her fears. Gilly sat mute behind Margaery, still holding little Sam. Jon continued - "Sansa, Margaery, and Gilly - I'm going to keep all of you - and little Sam, of course - in here for the duration of the fighting. Lady Brienne, as I see it, it's hardly my place to keep you from combat if you wish to fight alongside us."

Her hand tightened around the pommel of her sword as she nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Commander."

"I'll guard the door so the Wildlings don't get in," Podrick put in. "I'm not that great a fighter just yet, but I can do that."

"Good man," Jon replied with a nod. "Any questions?"

"What if they get in here anyway?" Gilly asked pointedly, speaking up for the first time in their little conference.

Before Jon could answer, Podrick spoke up. "They won't, milady; I can promise you that."

Nodding, Gilly cradled her son a little tighter. "We'll be safe," Margaery told Jon quietly. She knew that he needed to know that in order to focus on the coming fight. Even though they both knew that she couldn't promise anything, not with the odds they faced. But he needed to hear it, and she needed to say it.

"Be careful," Sansa said, hugging her brother as he approached the door. Margaery locked eyes with the Lord Commander over her friend's shoulder, and they exchanged a meaningful look. Gods how she ached to throw caution to the wind and follow Sansa's example. But even here in the far north, where the rules of society were nearly nonexistent, she did not have that freedom.

Jon released his sister, and held out a hand towards Margaery. It was an odd gesture, but she wasn't about to complain. He pressed something into her hand and nodded, before letting go. Margaery quickly hid the item in her skirts.

After another moment, Jon and Lady Brienne departed, leaving the ladies inside the office while Podrick took up a stance by the door. "So what happens now?" Gilly asked.

Margaery sighed. "We wait. There are about 300 fighting men in Castle Black, and a few more that have yet to take their vows. Hopefully Jon won't have to enlist them as well."

Sansa took a seat beside her friend. "But how many Wildlings are coming?" she asked worriedly.

Margaery bit her tongue briefly. "It's hard to know," she replied, not wanting to frighten them unnecessarily. "The scouts bring back varying reports. The Watch could be outnumbered ten to one if some of their stories are to be believed." When she saw the horror on Sansa's face - and realizing she had failed in keeping them calm - she quickly continued, "But it's possible all of this is a false alarm. It could just be a scare tactic from Mance Rayder." She looked the other two women in the eyes. "We'll make it through this. I'll make sure of it."

Leaving Sansa and Gilly to sit down and hopefully calm themselves, Margaery made her way to the door. Beside it hung the bow and quiver she'd been using to practise. She wasn't an expert by any means, but at least it was _something_ with which to defend herself. As she glanced at the squire by the door, though, she hesitated. "Podrick," she said quietly, making sure the other women didn't hear her.

"Miss Flowers?" he replied, looking at her in askance.

Margaery hesitated. "If they lose the battle… if they come in here…" she trailed off, uncertain of what it was she was asking.

"I won't let that happen. And Lord Commander Jon and Lady Brienne will do whatever it takes to keep you safe," the man reassured her, but it didn't make her feel any better. His eyes flitted to something over her shoulder.

"If they come in here-"

"Then we fight," Margaery interrupted, grabbing her bow. She didn't know what her friend had been about to suggest, and she was sure she didn't _want_ to know. "I'm sure Jon has some knives around here somewhere; I'm going to look."

As she looked around for possible weapons, she remembered the item Jon had handed her just before leaving, and drew it from her pockets. It was wrapped in cloth, and lighter than she realized from the way he had pressed it into her hand…

Margaery barely stifled a gasp as the edge of the wrapping fell away to reveal a Tyrell rose, forged in gold. The chain was thin, but clearly sturdily made, and long enough that she could easily hide the pendant under her dress. Not a detail of her house sigil had gone unnoticed; her eyes grew misty as she clutched it in her hand. Margaery could hardly believe it was real. Jon would have taken a great risk in having it commissioned.

 _Jon…_

A horrible thought suddenly engulfed her; as much as she tried to suppress it, she couldn't. "I'm going to the Sept, Podrick; I'll be back in a moment," she said abruptly, hurrying off in the direction of the small seven-sided attachment to the castle. Thankfully, she was undisturbed on her way there. She assumed the septon must have already taken cover.

Margaery let out a deep breath as she stepped inside. She always felt the presence of the Gods most acutely in the Sept, though it offered her little comfort now. Nevertheless, she was here for a purpose. She walked past each statue of the Seven, lighting a candle with each intercession. "Father, give him courage." A few steps. "Warrior, give him strength." A few more steps. "Smith, sharpen his blade." The process continued. "Mother, protect him. Maiden, have mercy. Crone, guide him. Stranger…"

Margaery sighed, lighting the candle and looking at the hooded statue.

"Please don't take him just yet."

/*/

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 **A/N: Leave us a review and let us know what you think!**

 **Credit goes to ShanMah, author of the fantastic "Lady of Flowers" (a Sansa/Loras fic you should all go check out) for the prayer Margaery uses at the end.**


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